GEORGE    MACDONALD'S 
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WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE    DONAL  GRANT 
IMAGINATION     WEIGHED  AND  WANTING 
WARLOCK  o'  GLENWARLOCK. 


WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE 


BY 

GEORGE  MACDONALD 
<p 

Author   of    "Donal   Grant,"    "  Warlock   o'    Glenwarlock," 
"  Weighed  and  Wanting,"  "  Seaboard  Parish," 
"  Annals  of  a  Quiet  Neighbor- 
hood," etc. 


BOSTON 
D.    LOTHROP    &    COMPANY 

FRANKLIN   AND   HAWLEY    STREETS 


Copyright,  1886. 
D.  LOTHROP  &  Co. 


IN  MEMORIAM 

^  .i.u.» 


WHS 


CONTENTS. 


1.  How  come  they  there  ? 7 

2.  A  short  Glance  over  the  Shoulder     .        .        .        .17 

3.  The  Girls'  First  Walk 21 

4.  The  Shop  in  the  ViUage 31 

5.  The  Chief 38 

6.  Work  and  Wage 49 

7.  Mother  and  Son 62 

8.  A  Morning  Call 77 

9.  Mr.  Sercombe 85 

10.  The  Plough-Bulls      .                 92 

11.  The  Fir-Grove 105 

12.  Among  the  Hills 115 

13.  The  Lake  .        .        . 126 

14.  The  Wolves 137 

15.  The  Gulf  that  divided       .        .  '      .        .        .        .150 

16.  The  Clan  Christmas  . 161 

17.  Between  Dancing  and  Supper 174 

18.  The  Dog-Kennel 182 

19.  Kob  of  the  Angels 192 

20.  At  the  New  House 208 

21.  The  Brothers 216 

22.  The  Princess 227 

23.  The  two  Pairs  ........  240 

24.  An  Cabrach  Mor 249 

25.  The  Stag's  Head 261 

26.  Annie  of  the  Shop 275 

v 


984414 


vi 

CONTENTS. 

27. 

The  Encounter  .         .         .         . 

.     281 

28. 

A  Lesson  

.     288 

29. 

Nature       ?. 

.     292 

30. 

Granny  Angry   

.     307 

31. 

Change       

.     323 

32. 

Love  Allodial             *       .        .        .        .        . 

.     329 

33. 

Mercy  calls  on  Granny      

.     342 

34. 

In  the  Tomb      

.     351 

35. 

At  a  High  School      

.     360 

36. 

A  Terrible  Discovery        ..... 

.     368 

37. 

How  Alister  took  it  

.     374 

38. 

Love  

.     384 

39. 

Passion  and  Patience        

.     393 

40. 

Love  Glooming          

.     404 

41. 

A  Generous  Dowry  

.     415 

42. 

Mistress  Conal  

.     429 

43. 

Mr.  Palmer  still  Relentless        .... 

.     446 

44. 

Midnight    

.     463 

45. 

Something  Strange  

.     471 

46. 

The  Power  of  Darkness    

.     475 

47. 

The  New  Stance        

.     483 

48. 

The  Peat-Moss  .        

.     489 

49. 

A  Daring  Visit  

503 

50. 

The  Flitting       

.     507 

51. 

The  New  Village       

.     510 

52. 

A  Friendly  Ofier        

.     513 

53. 

Another  Expulsion    

.     517 

54. 

The  Farewell 

528 

WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HOW   COME    THEY    THESIS? 

THE  room  was  handsomely  furnished,  but  such  as  I 
would  quarrel  with  none  for  calling  common,  for 
it  certainly  was  uninteresting.  Not  a  thing  in  it  had 
to  do  with  genuine  individual  choice,  but  merely  with 
the  fashion  and  custom  of  the  class  to  which  its  occu- 
piers belonged.  It  was  a  dining-room,  of  good  size, 
appointed  with  all  the  things  a  dining-room  "  ought " 
to  have,  mostly  new,  and  entirely  expensive  —  mirrored 
side-board  in  oak;  heavy  chairs,  just  the  dozen,  in 
fawn-colored  morocco  seats  and  backs  —  the  dining- 
room,  in  short,  of  a  London  house,  inhabited  by  rich 
middle-class  people.  A  big  fire  blazed  in  the  low 
round-backed  grate,  whose  flashes  were  reflected  in  the 
steel  fender  and  the  ugly  fire-irons  that  were  never 
used.  A  snowy  cloth  of  linen,  finer  than  ordinary,  for 
there  was  pride  in  the  housekeeping,  covered  the  large 
dining-table,  and  a  company,  evidently  a  family,  were 
eating  its  breakfast.  But  how  come  these  people 
there  ? 

For,  supposing  my  reader  one  of  the  company,  let 
him  rise  from  the  well-appointed  table — its  silver, 
bright  as  the  complex  motions  of  butler's  elbows  can 
make  it;  its  china,  ornate  though  not  elegant;  its  ham, 

7 


WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 


huge,  and  neither  too  fat  nor  too  lean ;  its  game  pie, 
with  nothing  to  be  desired  in  composition  or  in  flavor 
natural  or  artificial;  —  let  him  rise  from  these  and  go 
to  the  left  of  the  two  windows,  for  there  are  two  oppo- 
site each  other,  the  room  having  been  enlarged  by 
being  built  out :  if  he  be  such  a  one  as  I  would  have 
'fpr'$  rea(iet-,;mi^ht  .1  choose  —  a  reader  whose  heart, 
riot'  'merely  his*  "e'yey  mirrors  what  he  sees  —  one  who 
;na1>  l^erelylbehoids  the  outward  show  of  things,  but 
'catcBes  d  glimpse  'of  the  soul  that  looks  out  of  them, 
whose  garment  and  revelation  they  are;  —  if  he  be 
such,  I  say,  he  will  stand,  for  more  than  a  moment, 
speechless  with  something  akin  to  that  which  made  the 
morning  stars  sing  together. 

He  finds  himself  gazing  far  over  western  seas,  while 
yet  the  sun  is  in  the  east.  They  lie  clear  and  cold, 
pale  and  cold,  broken  with  islands  scattering  thinner 
to  the  horizon,  which  is  jagged  here  and  there  with 
yet  another.  The  ocean  looks  a  wild,  yet  peaceful 
mingling  of  lake  and  land.  Some  of  the  islands  are 
green  from  shore  to  shore,  of  low  yet  broken  surface ; 
others  are  mere  rocks,  with  a  bold  front  to  the  sea,  one 
or  two  of  them  strange  both  in  form  and  character. 
Over  the  pale  blue  sea  hangs  the  pale  blue  sky,  flecked 
with  a  few  cold  white  clouds  that  look  as  if  they  dis- 
owned the  earth  they  had  got  so  high  —  though  none 
the  less  her  children,  and  doomed  to  descend  again  to 
her  bosom.  A  keen  little  wind  is  out,  crisping  the  sur- 
face of  the  sea  in  patches  —  a  pretty  large  crisping  to 
be  seen  from  that  height,  for  the  window  looks  over 
hill  above  hill  to  the  sea.  Life,  quiet  yet  eager,  is  all 
about ;  the  solitude  itself  is  alive,  content  to  be  a  soli- 
tude because  it  is  alive.  Its  life  needs  nothing  from 
beyond  —  is  independent  even  of  the  few  sails  of  fish- 


HOW   COME    THEY   THERE?  9 

ing  boats  that  here  and  there  with  their  red  brown 
break  the  blue  of  the  water. 

If  my  reader,  gently  obedient  to  my  thaumaturgy, 
will  now  turn  and  cross  to  the  other  window,  let  him 
as  he  does  so  beware  of  casting  a  glance  on  his  right 
towards  the  place  he  has  left  at  the  table,  for  the  room 
will  now  look  to  him  tenfold  commonplace,  so  that  he 
too  will  be  inclined  to  ask,  "  How  come  these  and  their 
belongings  here  —  just  here?" — let  him  first  look  from 
the  window.  There  he  sees  hills  of  heather  rolling 
away  eastward,  at  middle  distance  beginning  to  rise 
into  mountains,  and  farther  yet,  on  the  horizon,  show- 
ing snow  on  their  crests  —  though  that  may  disappear 
and  return  several  times  before  settling  down  for  the 
winter.  It  is  a  solemn  and  very  still  region  —  not  a 
pretty  country  at  all,  but  great  —  beautiful  with  the 
beauties  of  color  and  variety  of  surface ;  while,  far  in 
the  distance,  where  the  mountains  and  the  clouds  have 
business  together,  its  aspect  rises  to  grandeur.  To  his 
first  glance  probably  not  a  tree  will  be  discoverable; 
the  second  will  fall  upon  a  solitary  clump  of  firs,  like  a 
mole  on  the  cheek  of  one  of  the  hills  not  far  off,  a  hill 
steeper  than  most  of  them,  and  green  to  the  top. 

Is  my  reader  seized  with  that  form  of  divine  longing 
which  wonders  what  lies  over  the  nearest  hill  ?  Does 
he  fancy,  ascending  the  other  side  to  its  crest,  some 
sweet  face  of  highland  girl,  singing  songs  of  the  old 
centuries  while  yet  there  was  a  people  in  these  wastes? 
Why  should  he  imagine  in  the  presence  of  the  actual? 
why  dream  when  the  eyes  can  see?  He  has  but  to 
return  to  the  table  to  reseat  himself  by  the  side  of  one 
of  the  prettiest  of  girls ! 

She  is  fair,  yet  with  a  glowing  tinge  under  her  fair- 
ness which  flames  out  only  in  her  eyes,  and  seldom  red- 


10  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

dens  her  skin.  She  has  brown  hair  with  just  a  suspi- 
cion of  red  and  no  more,  and  a  waviness  that  turns  to 
curl  at  the  ends.  She  has  a  good  forehead,  arched  a 
little,  not  without  a  look  of  habitation,  though  whence 
that  comes  it  might  be  hard  to  say.  There  are  no 
great  clouds  on  that  sky  of  the  face,  but  there  is  a  soft 
dimness  that  might  turn  to  rain.  She  has  a  straight 
nose,  not  too  large  for  the  imperfect  yet  decidedly 
Greek  contour ;  a  doubtful,  rather  straight,  thin-lipped 
mouth,  which  seems  to  dissolve  into  a  bewitching  smile, 
and  reveals  perfect  teeth  —  and  a  good  deal  more  to 
the  eyes  that  can  read  it.  When  the  mouth  smiles, 
the  eyes  light  up,  which  is  a  good  sign.  Their  shape  is 
long  oval  —  and  their  color  when  unlighted,  much  that 
of  an  unpeeled  almond ;  when  she  smiles,  they  grow  red. 
She  has  an  object  in  life  which  can  hardly  be  called  a 
mission.  She  is  rather  tall,  and  quite  graceful,  though 
not  altogether  natural  in  her  movements.  Her  dress 
gives  a  feathery  impression  to  one  who  rather  receives 
than  notes  the  look  of  ladies.  She  has  a  good  hand  — 
not  the  doll  hand  so  much  admired  of  those  who  can 
judge  only  of  quantity  and  know  nothing  of  quality, 
but  a  fine  sensible  hand,  — the  best  thing  about  her :  a 
hand  may  be  too  small  just  as  well  as  too  large. 

Poor  mother  earth !  What  a  load  of  disappointing 
women,  made  fit  for  fine  things,  and  running  all  to  self 
and  show,  she  carries  on  her  weary  old  back !  From  all 
such,  good  Lord  deliver  us !  —  except  it  be  for  our  dis- 
cipline or  their  awaking. 

Near  her  at  the  breakfast  table  sits  one  of  aspect  so 
different,  that  you  could  ill  believe  they  belonged  to 
the  same  family.  She  is  younger  and  taller  —  tall  in- 
deed, but  not  ungraceful,  though  by  no  means  beautiful. 
She  has  all  the  features  that  belong  to  a  face  —  among 


HOW   COME    THEY    THEKE ?  11 

them  not  a  good  one.  Stay !  I  am  wrong  :  there  were 
in  truth,  dominant  over  the  rest,  two  good  features  — 
her  two  eyes,  dark  as  eyes  well  could  be  without  being 
all  pupil,  large,  and  rather  long  like  her  sister's  until  she 
looked  at  you,  and  then  they  opened  wide.  They  did  not 
flash  or  glow,  but  were  full  of  the  light  that  tries  to  see 
—  questioning  eyes.  They  were  simple  eyes — I  will 
not  say  without  arriere  pensee^  for  there  was  no  end  of 
thinking  faculty,  if  not  yet  thought,  behind  them, —  but 
honest  eyes  that  looked  at  you  from  the  root  of  eyes, 
with  neither  attack  nor  defence  in  them.  If  she  was 
not  so  graceful  as  her  sister,  she  was  hardly  more  than 
a  girl,  and  had  a  remnant  of  that  curiously  lovely  min- 
gling of  grace  and  clumsiness  which  we  see  in  long-legged 
growing  girls.  I  will  give  her  the  advantage  of  not 
being  further  described,  except  so  far  as  this  —  that  her 
hair  was  long  and  black,  her  complexion  dark,  with 
something  of  a  freckly  unevenness,  and  her  hands  larger 
and  yet  better  than  her  sister's. 

There  is  one  truth  about  a  plain  face,  that  may  not 
have  occurred  to  many  :  its  ugliness  accompanies  a  con- 
dition of  larger  undevelopment,  for  all  ugliness  that  is 
not  evil,  is  undevelopment ;  and  so  implies  the  larger 
material  and  possibility  of  development.  The  idea  of 
no  countenance  is  yet  carried  out,  and  this  kind  will 
take  more  developing  for  the  completion  of  its  idea,  and 
may  result  in  a  greater  beauty.  I  would  therefore  ad- 
vise any  young  man  of  aspiration  in  the  matter  of  beauty, 
to  choose  a  plain  woman  for  wife  —  if  through  her 
plainness  she  is  yet  lovely  in  his  eyes  ;  for  the  loveliness 
is  herself  victorious  over  the  plainness,  and  her  face,  so 
far  from  complete  and  yet  serving  her  loveliness,  has  in 
it  room  for  completion  on  a  grander  scale  than  possibly- 
most  handsome  faces.  In  a  handsome  face  one  sees  the 


12  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

lines  of  its  coming  perfection,  and  has  a  glimpse  of  what 
it  must  be  when  finished :  few  are  prophets  enough  for 
a  plain  face.  A  keen  surprise  of  beauty  waits  many  a 
man  if  he  be  pure  enough  to  come  near  the  transfigura- 
tion of  the  homely  face  he  loved. 

This  plain  face  was  a  solemn  one,  and  the  solemnity 
suited  the  plainness.  It  was  not  specially  expressive 
—  did  not  look  specially  intelligent ;  there  was  more  of 
latent  than  operative  power  in  it  —  while  her  sister's 
had  more  expression  than  power.  Both  were  lady-like ; 
whether  they  were  ladies,  my  reader  may  determine. 
There  are  common  ladies  and  there  are  rare  ladies ;  the 
former  may  be  countesses ;  the  latter  may  be  peasants. 

There  were  two  younger  girls  at  the  table,  of  whom 
I  will  say  nothing  more  than  that  one  of  them  looked 
awkward,  promised  to  be  handsome,  and  was  apparently 
a  good  soul ;  the  other  was  pretty,  and  looked  pert. 

The  family  possessed  two  young  men,  but  they  were 
not  here  ;  one  was  a  partner  in  the  business  from  which 
his  father  had  practically  retired ;  the  other  was  that 
day  expected  from  Oxford. 

The  mother,  a  woman  with  many  autumnal  remind- 
ers of  spring  about  her,  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
and  regarded  her  queendom  with  a  smile  a  little  set, 
perhaps,  but  bright.  She  had  the  look  of  a  woman  on 
good  terms  with  her  motherhood,  with  society,  with 
the  universe  —  yet  had  scarce  a  shadow  of  assumption 
on  her  countenance.  For  if  she  felt  as  one  who  had  a 
claim  upon  things  to  go  pleasantly  with  her,  had  she 
not  put  in  her  claim,  and  had  it  acknowledged  ?  Her 
smile  was  a  sweet  white-toothed  smile,  true  if  shallow, 
and  a  more  than  tolerably  happy  one  —  often  irradiat- 
ing the  Governor  opposite  —  for  so  was  the  head  styled 
by  the  whole  family  from  mother  to  chit. 


HOW    COME    THEY    THERE?  13 

He  was  the  only  one  at  the  table  on  whose  counte- 
nance a  shadow  —  as  of  some  end  unattained  —  was 
visible.  He  had  tried  to  get  into  parliament,  and  had 
not  succeeded  ;  but  I  will  not  presume  to  say  that  was 
the  source  of  the  shadow.  He  did  not  look  discon- 
tented, or  even  peevish;  there  was  indeed  a  certain 
radiance  of  success  about  him  —  only  above  the  cloudy 
horizon  of  his  thick,  dark  eyebrows,  seemed  to  hang  a 
thundery  atmosphere.  His  forehead  was  large,  but  his 
features  rather  small ;  he  had,  however,  grown  a  trifle 
fat,  which  tended  to  make  up.  In  his  youth  he  must 
have  been  very  nice-looking,  probably  too  pretty  to  be 
handsome.  In  good  health  and  when  things  went  well, 
as  they  had  mostly  done  with  him,  he  was  sweet-tem- 
pered ;  what  he  might  be  in  other  conditions  was  sel- 
dom conjectured.  But  was  that  a  sleeping  thunder- 
cloud, or  only  the  shadow  of  his  eyebrows  ? 

He  had  a  good  opinion  of  himself  —  on  what  grounds 
all  I  do  not  know;  but  he  was  rich,  and  I  know  no 
better  ground ;  I  doubt  if  there  is  any  more  certain 
soil  for  growing  a  good  opinion  of  one's  self.  Certainly, 
the  more  you  try  to  raise  one  by  doing  what  is  right 
and  worth  doing,  the  less  you  succeed. 

Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  had  finished  his  breakfast,  and 
sat  for  a  while  looking  at  nothing  in  particular,  plugged 
in  deep  thought  about  nothing  at  all,  while  the  girls 
went  on  with  theirs.  He  was  a  little  above  the  middle 
height,  and  looked  not  much  older  than  his  wife ;  his 
black  hair  had  but  begun  to  be  touched  with  silver ;  he 
seemed  a  man  without  an  atom  of  care  more  than  hu- 
manity counts  reasonable;  his  speech  was  not  unlike 
that  of  an  Englishman,  for,  although  born  in  Glasgow, 
he  had  been  to  Oxford.  He  spoke  respectfully  to  his 
wife,  and  with  a  pleasant  playfulness  to  his  daughters  ; 


14  WHAT'S  MICE'S  MINE. 

his  manner  was  nowise  made  to  order,  but  natural 
enough ;  his  grammar  was  as  good  as  conversation  re- 
quires ;  everything  was  respectable  about  him  —  and 
yet  —  he  was  one  remove  at  least  from  a  gentleman. 
Something  hard  to  define  was  lacking  to  that  idea  of 
perfection. 

Mr.  Peregrine"  Palmer's  grandfather  had  begun  to 
make  the  family  fortune  by  developing  a  little  secret 
still  in  a  remote  highland  glen,  which  had  acquired  a 
reputation  for  its  whiskey,  into  a  great  superterrene 
distillery.  Both  he  and  his  son  made  money  by  it,  and 
it  had  "  done  well "  for  Mr.  Peregrine  also.  With  all 
three  of  them  the  making  of  money  was  the  great  call- 
ing of  life.  They  were  diligent  in  business,  fervent  in 
spirit,  serving  Mammon,  and  founding  claim  to  consid- 
eration on  the  fact.  Neither  Jacob  nor  John  Palmer's 
worst  enemy  had  ever  called  him  a  hypocrite  :  neither 
had  been  suspected  of  thinking  to  serve  Mammon  and 
God.  Both  had  gone  regularly  to  church,  but  neither 
had  taught  in  a  Sunday  school,  or  once  gone  to  a  week- 
day sermon.  Peregrine  had  built  a  church  and  a 
school.  He  did  not  now  take  any  active  part  in  the 
distillery,  but  employed  money  variously  —  in  making 
more  money,  for  he  had  a  genuine  turn  for  business. 

Jacob,  the  son  of  a  ship-chandler  at  Greenock,  had 
never  thought  about  gentleman  or  no  gentleman ;  but 
his  son  John  had  entertained  the  difference,  and  done 
his  best  to  make  a  gentleman  of  Peregrine  ;  and  neither 
Peregrine  nor  any  of  his  family  ever  doubted  his  father's 
success.  He  had  not  quite  succeeded.  I  would  have 
the  blame  laid  on  Peregrine  and  not  on  either  father 
or  grandfather.  For  a  man  to  grow  a  gentleman,  it  is 
of  great  consequence  that  his  grandfather  should  have 
been  an  honest  man ;  but  if  a  man  be  a  gentleman,  it 


HOW    COME    THEY    THEKE  ?  15 

matters  little  what  his  grandfather  or  grandmother 
either  was.  Nay  —  if  a  man  be  a  gentleman,  it  is  of 
the  smallest  consequence,  except  for  his  own  sake, 
whether  the  world  counts  him  one  or  not. 

Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  rose  from  the  table  with  a 
merry  remark  on  the  prolongation  of  the  meal  by  his 
girls,  and  went  towards  the  door. 

u  Are  you  going  to  shoot  ?  "  asked  his  wife. 

"  Not  to-day.  But  I  am  going  to  look  after  my  guns. 
I  daresay  they've  got  them  all  right,  but  there's  nothing 
like  seeing  to  a  thing  yourself." 

Mr.  Palmer  had  this  virtue,  and  this  very  gentleman- 
like way  —  that  he  always  gave  his  wife  as  direct  an 
answer  as  he  would  another  lady.  He  was  not  given 
to  marital  brevity. 

He  was  there  for  the  grouse-shooting  —  not  exactly, 
only  "  as  it  were."  He  did  not  care  very  much  about 
the  sport,  and  had  he  cared  nothing,  would  have  been 
there  all  the  same.  Other  people,  in  what  he  counted 
his  social  position,  shot  grouse,  and  he  liked  to  do  what 
other  people  did,  for  then  he  felt  all  right :  if  ever  he 
tried  the  gate  of  heaven,  it  would  be  because  other  peo- 
ple did.  But  the  primary  cause  of  his  being  so  far  in 
the  north  was  the  simple  fact  that  he  had  had  the 
chance  of  buying  a  property  very  cheap  —  a  fine  prop- 
erty of  mist  and  cloud,  heather  and  rock,  mountain  and 
moor,  and  with  no  such  reputation  for  grouse  as  to  en- 
hance its  price.  "  My  estate,"  sounded  well,  and  after 
a  time  of  good  preserving  he  would  be  able  to  let  it  well, 
he  trusted.  No  sooner  was  it  bought  than  his  wife  and 
daughters  were  eager  to  visit  it ;  and  the  man  of  business, 
perceiving  that  it  would  cost  him  much  less  if  they 
passed  their  summers  there  instead  of  on  the  continent, 
proceeded  at  once  to  enlarge  the  house  and  make  it 


16  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

comfortable.  If  they  should  never  go  a  second  time,  it 
would,  with  its  perfect  appointments,  make  the  place 
unusually  attractive ! 

They  had  arrived  the  day  before.  The  journey  had 
been  fatiguing,  for  a  great  part  of  it  was  by  road  ;  but 
they  were  all  in  splendid  health,  and  not  too  tired  to 
get  up  in  reasonable  time  the  next  day. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  SHORT  GLANCE  OVER  THE  SHOULDER. 

MR.  PEREGRINE  was  the  first  of  the  Palmer 
family  to  learn  that  there  was  a  Palmer  coat  of 
arms.     He  learned  it  at  college,  and  on  this  wise. 

One  day  a  fellow-student,  who  pleased  himself  with 
what  he  called  philology,  remarked  that  his  father  must 
have  been  a  bit  of  a  humorist  to  name  him  Peregrine  :  — 
"  except  indeed  it  be  a  family  name  !  "  he  added. 

"  I  never  thought  about  it,"  said  Peregrine.  "  I  don't 
quite  know  what  you  mean." 

The  fact  was  he  had  no  glimmering  idea  of  what  he 
meant. 

"  Nothing  profound,"  returned  the  other.  "  Only 
don't  you  see  Peregrine  means  pilgrim?  It  is  the 
same  as  the  Italian  pellegrino,  from  the  Latin,  pere- 
grinus,  which  means  one  that  goes  about  the  fields, — 
what  in  Scotland  you  call  a  landlouper" 

"  Well,  but,"  returned  Peregrine,  hesitatingly,  "  I 
don't  find  myself  much  wiser.  Peregrine  means  a  pil- 
grim, you  say,  but  what  of  that  ?  All  names  mean 
something,  I  suppose !  It  don't  matter  much." 

"What  is  your  coat  of  arms?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"Why  did  your  father  call  you  Peregrine?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  either.  I  suppose  because  he 
liked  the  name." 

17 


18  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Why  should  he  have  liked  it?"  continued  the  other, 
who  was  given  to  the  Socratic  method. 

"  I  know  no  more  than  the  man  in  the  moon." 

"  What  does  your  surname  mean  ?  " 

"  Something  to  do  with  palms,  I  suppose." 

"Doubtless." 

"  You  see  I  don't  go  in  for  that  kind  of  thing,  like 
you!" 

"  Any  man  who  cares  about  the  cut  of  his  coat,  might 
have  a  little  curiosity  about  the  cut  of  his  name :  it  sits 
to  him  a  good  deal  closer  ! " 

"  That  is  true  —  so  close  that  you  can't  do  anything 
with  it.  You  can't  pull  it  off  however  you  criticise  it !  " 

"You  can  change  it  any  day.  Would  you  like  to 
change  it?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Stokes ! "  said  Peregrine  dryly. 

"  I  didn't  mean  with  mine,"  growled  the  other.  "  My 
name  is  an  historical  one  too — but  that  is  not  in  ques- 
tion. Do  you  know  your  crest  ought  to  be  a  hairy 
worm?" 

"Why?" 

"Don't  you  know  the  palmer-worm?  It  got  its 
name  where  you  got  yours  !  " 

"  Well,  we  all  come  from  Adam." 

«  What !  worms  and  all  ?  " 

"  Surely.  We're  all  worms,  the  parson  says.  Come, 
put  me  through ;  it's  time  for  lunch.  Or,  if  you  prefer, 
let  me  burst  in  ignorance.  I  don't  mind." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  explain.  The  palmer  was  a  pil- 
grim :  when  he  came  home,  he  carried  a  palm-branch 
to  show  he  had  been  to  the  holy  land." 

"  Did  the  hairy  worm  go  to  the  holy  land  too  ? " 
"  He  is  called  a  palmer- worm  because  he  has  feet 
enough  to  go  any  number  of  pilgrimages.    But  you  are 


A  SHORT  GLANCE  OVER  THE  SHOULDER.      19 

such  a  landlouper,  you  ought  to  blazon  two  hairy 
worms  saltier-wise." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  Why,  your  name,  interpreted  to  half  an  ear,  is  just 
Pilgrim  Pilgrim  !  " 

"  I  wonder  if  my  father  meant  it !  " 

"  That  I  cannot  even  guess  at,  not  having  the  pleas- 
ure of  knowing  your  father.  But  it  does  look  like  a 
paternal  joke ! " 

His  friend*  sought  out  for  him  the  coat  and  crest  of 
the  Palmers ;  but  for  the  latter,  strongly  recommended 
a  departure:  the  fresh  family-branch  would  suit  the 
worm  so  well!  —  his  crest  ought  to  be  two  worms 
crossed,  tufted,  the  tufts  ouched  in  gold.  It  was  not 
heraldic  language,  but  with  Peregrine  passed  well 
enough.  Still  he  did  not  take  to  the  worms,  but  con- 
tented himself  with  the  ordinary  crest.  He  was  hence- 
forth, however,  better  pleased  with  his  name,  for  he 
fancied  in  it  something  of  the  dignity  of  a  double 
surname. 

His  first  glance  at  his  wife  was  because  she  crossed 
the  field  of  his  vision ;  his  second  glance  was  because 
of  her  beauty ;  his  third  because  her  name  was  Shelley. 
It  is  marvellous  how  whimsically  sentimental  common- 
place people  can  be  where  their  own  interesting  per- 
sonality is  concerned  :  her  name  he  instantly  associated 
with  scallop-shell,  and  began  to  make  inquiry  about  her. 
Learning  that  her  other  name  was  Miriam,  one  also  of 
the  holy  land  — 

"  A  most  remarkable  coincidence  !  —  a  mere  coinci- 
dence of  course ! "  he  said  to  himself.  "  Evidently 
that  is  the  woman  destined  to  be  the  companion  of  my 
pilgrimage ! " 

When  their  first  child  was  born,   the  father  was 


20  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

greatly  exercised  as  to  a  fitting  name  for  him.  He 
turned  up  an  old  botany  book,  and  sought  out  the 
scientific  names  of  different  palms.  Chamaerops  would 
not  do,  for  it  was  a  dwarf-palm;  JBorassus  might  do, 
seeing  it  was  a  boy  —  only  it  stood  for  a  fan-palm ; 
Corypha  would  not  be  bad  for  a  girl,  only  it  was  the 
name  of  a  heathen  goddess,  and  would  not  go  well  with 
the  idea  of  a  holy  palmer.  Cocoa,  Phainix,  and  Areca, 
one  after  the  other,  went  in  at  his  eyes  and  through 
his  head ;  none  of  them  pleased  him.  His  wife,  how- 
,  ever,  who  in  her  smiling  way  had  fallen  in  with  his 
whim,  helped  him  out  of  his  difficulty.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  nonconformist  parents  in  Lancashire,  and 
had  been  encouraged  when  a  child  to  read  a  certain 
old-fashioned  book  called  "The  Pilgrim's  Progress," 
which  her  husband  had  never  seen.  He  did  not  read 
it  now,  but  accepted  her  suggestion,  named  the  boy 
Christian.  When  a  daughter  came,  he  would  have 
had  her  Christiana,  but  his  wife  persuaded  him  to  be 
content  with  Christina.  They  named  their  second  son 
Valentine,  after  Mr.  Yaliant-for-truth.  Their  second 
daughter  was  Mercy  ;  and  for  the  third  and  fourth, 
Hope  and  Grace  seemed  near  enough.  So  the  family 
had  a  cool  glow  of  puritanism  about  it,  while  nothing 
was  farther  from  the  thoughts  of  any  of  them  than 
what  their  names  signified.  All,  except  the  mother, 
associated  them  with  the  crusades  for  the  rescue  of  the 
sepulchre  of  the  Lord  from  the  pagans ;  not  a  thought 
did  one  of  them  spend  on  the  rescue  of  a  live  soul  from 
the  sepulchre  of  low  desires,  mean  thoughts,  and  crawl- 
ing selfishness. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    GIRLS'   FIRST   WALK. 

THE  Governor,  Peregrine  and  Palmer  as  he  was, 
did  not  care  about  walking  at  any  time,  not  even 
when  he  had  to  do  it  because  other  people  did  ;  the 
mother,  of  whom  there  would  have  been  little  left  had 
the  sweetness  in  her  moral,  and  the  house-keeping  in 
her  practical  nature,  been  subtracted,  had  things  to  see 
to  within  doors ;  the  young  people  must  go  out  by 
themselves !  They  put  on  their  hats,  and  issued. 

The  temperature  was  keen,  though  it  was  now  nearly 
the  middle  of  August,  by  which  time  in  those  northern 
regions  the  earth  had  begun  to  get  a  little  warm  :  the 
house  stood  high,  and  the  atmosphere  was  thin.  There 
was  a  certain  sense  of  sadness  in  the  pale  sky  and  its 
cold  brightness ;  but  these  young  people  felt  no  cold, 
and  perceived  no  sadness.  The  air  was  exhilarating, 
and  they  breathed  deep  breaths  of  a  pleasure  more  akin 
to  the  spiritual  than  they  were  capable  of  knowing. 
For  as  they  gazed  around  them,  they  thought,  like 
Hamlet's  mother  in  the  presence  of  her  invisible  hus- 
band, that  they  saw  all  there  was  to  be  seen.  They  did 
not  know  nature  :  in  the  school  to  which  they  had  gone 
they  patronized  instead  of  revering  her.  She  wrought 
upon  them  nevertheless  after  her  own  fashion  with  her 
children,  unheedful  whether  they  knew  what  she  was 
about  or  not.  The  mere  space,  the  mere  height  from 

21 


22  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

which  they  looked,  the  rarity  of  the  air,  the  soft  aspir- 
ation of  earth  towards  heaven,  made  them  all  more  of 
children. 

But  not  one  of  them  being  capable  of  enjoying  any- 
thing by  herself,  together  they  were  unable  to  enjoy 
much ;  and,  like  the  miser  who,  when  he  cannot  much 
enjoy  his  money,  desires  more,  began  to  desire  more 
company  to  share  in  the  already  withering  satisfaction 
of  their  new  possession  —  to  help  them,  that  is,  to  get 
pleasure  out  of  it,  as  out  of  a  new  dress.  It  is  a  good 
thing  to  desire  to  share  a  good  thing,  but  it  is  not  well 
to  be  unable  alone  to  enjoy  a  good  thing.  It  is  our 
enjoyment  that  should  make  us  desirous  to  share. 
What  is  there  to  share  if  the  thing  be  of  no  value  in 
itself?  To  enjoy  alone  is  to  be  able  to  share.  No  par- 
ticipation can  make  that  of  value  which  in  itself  is  of 
none.  It  is  not  love  alone  but  pride  also,  and  often 
only  pride,  that  leads  to  the  desire  for  another  to  be 
present  with  us  in  possession. 

The  girls  grew  weary  of  the  show  around  them  because 
it  was  so  quiet,  so  regardless  of  their  presence,  so  move- 
less, so  monotonous.  Endless  change  was  going  on,  but 
it  was  too  slow  for  them  to  see  ;  had  it  been  rapid,  its 
motions  were  not  of  a  kind  to  interest  them.  Ere  half- 
an-hour  they  had  begun  to  think  with  regret  of  Picca- 
dilly and  Regent  street  —  for  they  had  passedthe  season 
in  London.  There  is  a  good  deal  counted  social  which 
is  merely  gregarious.  Doubtless  humanity  is  better 
company  than  a  bare  hill-side  ;  but  not  a  little  depends 
on  how  near  we  come  to  the  humanity,  and  how  near 
we  come  to  the  hill.  I  doubt  if  one  who  could  not  en- 
joy a  bare  hill-side  alone,  would  enjoy  the  hill-side  in 
any  company ;  if  he  thought  he  did,  I  suspect  it  would 
be  that  the  company  enabled  him,  not  to  forget  himself 


THE    GIRLS'    FIRST    WALK.  23 

in  what  he  saw,  but  to  be  more  pleasantly  aware  of 
himself  than  the  lone  hill  would  permit  him  to  be :  — 
for  the  mere  hill  has  its  relation  to  that  true  self  which 
the  common  self  is  so  anxious  to  avoid  and  forget.  The 
girls,  however,  went  on  and  on,  led  mainly  by  the  ani- 
mal delight  of  motion,  the  two  younger  making  many 
a  diversion  up  the  hill  on  the  one  side,  and  down  the 
hill  on  the  other,  shrieking  aloud  at  everything  fresh 
that  pleased  them. 

The  house  they  had  just  left  stood  on  the  projecting 
shoulder  of  a  hill,  here  and  there  planted  with  firs.  Of 
the  hardy  trees  there  was  a  thicket  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  while  towards  the  south,  less  hardy  ones  grew 
in  the  shrubbery,  though  they  would  never,  because  of 
the  sea-breezes,  come  to  any  height.  The  carriage- 
drive  to  the  house  joined  two  not  very  distant  points 
on  the  same  road,  and  there  was  no  lodge  at  either 
gate.  It  was  a  rough,  country  road,  a  good  deal  rutted, 
and  seldom  repaired.  Opposite  the  gates,  rose  the 
steep  slope  of  a  heathery  hill,  along  the  flank  of  which 
the  girls  were  now  walking.  On  their  right  lay  a  piece 
of  rough  moorland,  covered  with  heather,  patches  of 
bracken,  and  coarse  grass.  A  few  yards  to  the  right,  it 
sank  in  a  steep  descent.  Such  was  the  disposition  of 
the  ground  for  some  distance  along  the  road  —  on  one 
side  the  hill,  on  the  other  a  narrow  level,  and  abrupt 
descent,  gradually  descending  towards  a  valley. 

As  they  advanced  they  caught  sight  of  a  ruin  rising 
above  the  brow  of  the  descent :  the  two  younger  darted 
across  the  heather  towards  it ;  the  two  elder  continued 
their  walk  along  the  road. 

"  I  wonder  what  we  shall  see  round  the  corner 
there ! "  said  Mercy,  the  younger  of  the  two. 

"  The  same  over  again,  I  suppose ! "  answered  Chris- 


24  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

tina.  "  What  a  rough  road  it  is !  I've  twice  nearly 
sprained  my  ankle  !  " 

"I  was  thinking  of  what  I  saw  the  other  day  in 
somebody's  travels  —  about  his  interest  in  every  turn  of 
the  road,  always  looking  for  what  wras  to  come  next." 

"  Time  enough  when  it  comes,  in  my  opinion  !  "  re- 
joined Christina. 

For  she  was  like  any  other  mirror  —  quite  ready  to 
receive  what  was  thrown  upon  her,  but  incapable  of 
originating  anything,  almost  incapable  of  using  any- 
thing. 

As  they  descended,  and  the  hill-side,  here  covered 
with  bracken  and  bowlders,  grew  higher  and  higher 
above  them,  the  valley,  in  front  and  on  the  right,  grad- 
ually opened,  here  and  there  showing  a  glimpse  of  a 
small  stream  that  cantered  steadily  towards  the  sea,  now 
tumbling  over  a  rock,  now  sullen  in  a  brown  pool. 
Arriving  at  length  at  a  shoulder  of  the  hill  round  which 
the  road  turned,  a  whole  mile  of  the  brook  lay  before 
them.  It  came  down  a  narrow  valley,  with  scraps  of 
meadow  in  the  bottom ;  but  immediately  below  them 
the  valley  was  of  some  width,  and  was  good  land  from 
side  to  side,  where  green  oats  waved  their  feathery 
grace,  and  the  yellow  barley  was  nearly  ready  for  the 
sickle.  No  more  than  the  barren  hill,  however,  had  the 
fertile  valley  anything  for  them.  Their  talk  was  of  the 
last  ball  they  were  at. 

The  sisters  were  about  as  good  friends  as  such  neg- 
ative creatures  could  be  ;  and  they  would  be  such 
friends  all  their  lives,  if  on  the  one  hand  neither  of 
them  grew  to  anything  better,  and  on  the  other  no 
jealousy,  or  marked  difference  of  social  position  through 
marriage,  intervened.  They  loved  each  other,  if  not 
tenderly,  yet  with  the  genuineness  of  healthy  family- 


THE    GIRLS'    FIRST    WALK.  25 

habit  —  a  thing  not  to  be  despised,  for  it  keeps  the  door 
open  for  something  better.  In  itself  it  is  not  at  all  to 
be  reckoned  upon,  for  habit  is  but  the  merest  shadow  of 
reality.  Still  it  is  not  a  small  thing,  as  families  go,  if 
sisters  and  brothers  do  not  dislike  each  other. 

They  were  criticizing  certain  of  the  young  men  they 
had  met  at  the  said  ball.  Being,  in  their  development,  if 
not  in  their  nature,  commonplace,  what  should  they 
talk  about  but  dress  or  young  men?  And  why,  al- 
though an  excellent  type  of  its  kind,  should  I  take  the 
trouble  to  record  their  conversation?  To  read,  it 
might  have  amused  me  —  or  even  interested,  as  may  a 
carrot  painted  by  a  Dutchman ;  but  were  I  painter,  I 
should  be  sorry  to  paint  carrots,  and  the  girls'  talk  is 
not  for  my  pen.  At  the  same  time  I  confess  myself  in- 
capable of  doing  it  justice.  When  one  is  annoyed  at 
the  sight  of  things  meant  to  be  and  not  beautiful,  there 
is  danger  of  not  giving  them  even  the  poor  fair-play 
they  stand  in  so  much  the  more  need  of  that  it  can  do 
so  little  for  them. 

But  now  they  changed  the  subject  of  their  talk. 
They  had  come  to  a  point  of  the  road  not  far  from  the 
ruin  to  which  the  children  had  run  across  the  heather. 

"  Look,  Chrissy !  It  is  an  old  castle  !  "  said  Mercy. 
"  I  wonder  whether  it  is  on  our  land  !  " 

"  Not  much  to  be  proud  of  !  "  replied  the  other.  "  It 
is  nothing  but  the  walls  of  a  square  house !  " 

"  Not  just  a  common  square  house !  Look  at  that 
pepper-pot  on  one  of  the  corners !  —  I  wonder  how  it 
is  all  the  old  castles  get  deserted !  " 

"  Because  they  are  old.  It's  well  to  desert  them  be- 
fore they  tumble  down." 

"But  they  wouldn't  tumble  down  if  they  weren't 
neglected.  Think  of  Warwick  castle  !  Stone  doesn't 


26  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

rot  like  wood  !     Just  see  the  thickness  of  those  walls ! " 

"  Yes,  they  are  thick !  But  stone  too  has  its  way  of 
rotting.  Westminster  palace  is  wearing  through  flake 
by  flake.  The  weather  will  be  at  the  lords  before 
long." 

"  That's  what  Valentine  would  call  a  sign  of  the 
times.  I  say,  what  a  radical  he  is,  Chrissy !  —  look ! 
the  old  place  is  just  like  an  empty  eggshell !  I  know, 
if  it  had  been  mine,  I  wouldn't  have  let  it  come  to 
that!" 

"  You  say  that  because  it  never  was  yours :  if  it  had 
been,  you  would  know  how  uncomfortable  it  was ! " 

"  I  should  like  to  know,"  said  Mercy,  after  a  little 
pause,  during  which  they  stood  looking  at  the  ruin, 
"whether  the  owners  leave  such  places  because  they 
get  fastidious  and  want  better,  or  because  they  are  too 
poor  to  keep  them  up !  At  all  events  a  man  must  be 
poor  to  sell  the  house  that  belonged  to  his  ancestors ! 
—  It  must  be  miserable  to  grow  poor  after  being  used 
to  plenty !  —  I  wonder  whose  is  the  old  place ! " 

"  O,  the  governor's,  I  suppose !  He  has  all  here- 
about for  miles." 

"  I  hope  it  is  ours  !  I  should  like  to  build  it  up  again ! 
I  would  live  in  it  myself  !  " 

"  I'm  afraid  the  governor  won't  advance  your  share 
for  that  purpose,  Mercy !  " 

"  I  love  old  things !  "   said  Mercy. 

"  I  believe  you  take  your  old  doll  to  bed  with  you 
still !  "  rejoined  Christina.  "  I  am  different  to  you  !  " 
she  continued,  with  Frenchified  grammar.  "I  like 
things  as  new  as  ever  I  can  have  them." 

"  I  like  new  things  well  enough,  Chrissy  —  you  know 
I  do  !  It  is  natural.  The  earth  herself  has  new  clothes 
once  a  year.  It  is  but  once  a  year,  I  grant ! " 


THE    GIRLS'    FIKST    WALK.  27 

"  Often  enough  for  an  old  granny  like  her ! " 

"  Look  what  a  pretty  cottage !  —  down  there,  half- 
way to  the  burn!  It's  like  an  English  cottage  !  Those 
we  saw  as  we  came  along  were  either  like  a  piece  of 
the  earth,  or  so  white  as  to  look  ghastly !  This  one  looks 
neat  and  comfortable,  and  has  trees  about  it !  " 

The  ruin,  once  a  fortified  house  and  called  a  castle, 
stood  on  a  sloping  root  or  spur  that  ran  from  the  hill 
down  to  the  bank  of  the  stream,  where  it  stopped 
abruptly  with  a  steep  scaur,  at  whose  foot  lay  a  dark 
pool.  On  the  same  spur,  half-way  to  the  burn,  stood  a 
low,  stone-built,  thatched  cottage,  with  a  little  grove 
about  it,  mostly  of  the  hardy,  contented,  musical  fir  — 
a  tree  that  would  seem  to  have  less  regard  to  earthly 
prosperity  than  most  and  looks  like  a  pilgrim  and  a 
stranger :  not  caring  much,  it  thrives  where  other  trees 
cannot.  There  might  have  been  a  hundred  of  them, 
mingled,  in  strangest  contrast,  with  a  few  delicate  silver 
birches,  about  the  cottage.  It  stood  towards  the  east 
side  of  the  sinking  ridge,  which  had  a  steep  descent, 
both  east  and  west,  to  the  fields  below.  The  slopes 
were  green  with  sweet  grass,  and  apparently  smooth  as 
a  lawn.  Not  far  from  where  the  cottage  seemed  to 
rest  rather  than  rise  or  stand,  the  burn  rushed  right 
against  the  side  of  the  spur,  as  if  to  go  straight  through 
it,  but  turned  abruptly,  and  flowed  along  the  side  to 
the  end  of  it,  where  its  way  to  the  sea  was  open.  On 
the  point  of  the  ridge  were  a  few  more  firs:  except 
these,  those  about  the  cottage,  the  mole  on  the  hill- 
cheek,  and  the  plantation  about  the  New  House,  up  or 
down  was  not  a  tree  to  be  seen.  The  girls  stood  for  a 
moment  looking. 

"  It's  really  quite  pretty ! "  said  Christina  with  con- 
descension. "It  has  actually  something  of  what  one 


28  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

misses  here  so  much  —  a  certain  cosy  look !  Tidy  it  is 
too !  As  you  say,  Mercy,  it  might  be  in  England  — 
only  for  the  poverty  of  its  trees. —  And  oh  those 
wretched  bare  hills ! "  she  added,  as  she  turned  away 
and  moved  on. 

"  Wait  till  the  heather  is  quite  out :  then  you  will 
have  color  to  make  up  for  the  bareness." 

"  Tell  true  now,  Mercy :  that  you  are  Scotch  need 
not  keep  you  from  speaking  the  truth :  —  don't  you 
think  heather  just  —  well — just  a  leetle  magentaish? 
—  not  a  color  to  be  altogether  admired  ?  —  just  a  little 
vulgar,  don't  you  know  ?  The  fashion  has  changed  so 
much  within  the  last  few  years !  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so ;  and  if  I  did  I  should  be 
ashamed  of  it.  I  suppose  poor  old  mother  Earth  ought 
to  go  to  the  pre-Raphaelites  to  be  taught  how  to  dress 
herself ! " 

Mercy  spoke  with  some  warmth,  but  Christina  was 
not  sufficiently  interested  to  be  cross  —  though  she 
made  no  answer. 

They  were  now  at  the  part  of  the  road  which  crossed 
the  descending  spur  as  it  left  the  hill-side.  Here  they 
stopped  again,  and  looked  down  the  rocky  slope.  There 
was  hardly  anything  green  betwixt  them  and  the  old 
ruin  —  little  but  stones  on  a  mass  of  rock  ;  but  imme- 
diately beyond  the  ruin  the  green  began:  there  it 
seemed  as  if  a  wave  of  the  meadow  had  risen  and  over- 
flowed the  spur,  leaving  its  turf  behind  it.  Catching 
sight  of  Hope  and  Grace  as  they  ran  about  the  ruin, 
they  went  to  join  them,  the  one  drawn  by  a  vague  in- 
terest in  the  exuvia  of  vanished  life,  the  other  by  mere 
curiosity  to  see  inside  the  care-worn,  protesting  walls. 
Through  a  gap  that  might  once  have  been  a  door,  they 
entered  the  heart  of  the  sad  unhoping  thing  dropt  by 


THE    GIRLS'    FIRST    WALK.  29 

the  Past  on  its  way  to  oblivion  :  nothing  looks  so  unlike 
life  as  a  dead  body,  nothing  so  unfit  for  human  dwell- 
ing as  a  long-forsaken  house. 

Finding  in  one  corner  a  broken  stair,  they  clambered 
up  to  a  gap  in  the  east  wall ;  and  as  they  reached  it, 
heard  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet.  Looking  down  the 
road,  they  saw  a  gig  approaching  with  two  men.  It 
had  reached  a  part  not  so  steep,  and  was  coming  at  a 
trot. 

"Why!"  exclaimed  Christina,  "there's  Yal!  —  and 
some  one  with  him ! " 

"  I  heard  the  governor  say  to  mamma,"  returned 
Mercy,  "  that  Yal  was  going  to  bring  a  college  friend 
with  him  ' —  for  a  pop  at  the  grouse,'  he  said.  I  wonder 
what  he  will  be  like ! " 

"  He's  a  good-big-looking  fellow,"  said  Christina. 

They  drew  nearer. 

"  You  might  have  said  a  big  good-looking  fellow  ! '' 
rejoined  Mercy. 

"  He  really  is  handsome !  — Now  mind,  Mercy,  I  was 
the  first  to  discover  it ! "  said  Christina. 

"  Indeed  you  were  not !  —  I  was  the  first  to  say  it, 
anyhow ! "  returned  Mercy.  "  But  I  don't  mean  to  like 
him,  so  you  can  have  him." 

It  was  vulgar  —  and  yet  the  girls  were  not  vulgar  — 
they  were  only  common.  They  did  and  said  vulgar 
things  because  they  had  no  sensitive  vitality  to  make 
them  shrink  from  them.  They  had  not  been  well 
taught  —  that  is  roused  to  live  :  in  the  family  was  not 
a  breath  of  aspiration.  There  was  plenty  of  ambition, 
that  is,  aspiration  turned  hell -wards.  They  thought 
themselves  as  far  from  vulgar  as  any  lady  in  any  land, 
being  vulgar  essentially  in  this  —  that  they  despised 
the  people  they  called  vulgar,  and  thought  much  of 


30  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

themselves  for  not  being  vulgar.  There  was  little  in 
them  the  world  would  call  vulgar ;  but  the  world  and 
its  ways  are  vulgar ;  its  breeding  will  not  pass  with  the 
ushers  of  the  high  countries.  It  was  more  a  fast,  dis- 
agreeable way  of  talking  than  anything  worse :  they 
owed  it  to  a  certain  governess  they  had  had  for  a  while. 

They  hastened  to  the  road.  The  gig  came  up.  Val- 
entine threw  the  reins  to  his  companion,  jumped  out, 
embraced  his  sisters,  and  seemed  glad  to  see  them. 
Had  he  met  them  after  a  like  interval  at  home,  he 
would  have  given  them  a  cooler  greeting  ;  but  he  had 
travelled  so  many  miles  that  they  seemed  not  to  have 
met  for  quite  a  long  time. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  Sercombe,"  he  said,  jerking  his 
head  towards  the  gig. 

Mr.  Sercombe  raised  his  pot-lid —  the  last  fashion, 
in  headgear  —  and  acquaintance  was  made. 

"We'll  drive  on,  Sercombe,"  said  Valentine,  jump- 
ing up.  "  You  see,  Chris,  we're  half  dead  with  hun- 
ger !  Do  you  think  we  shall  find  anything  to  eat  ?  " 

"Judging  by  what  we  left  at  breakfast,"  replied 
Christina,  "  I  should  say  there  would  be  enough  for  — 
one  of  you ;  but  you  had  better  go  and  see." 


CHAPTER  IV, 

THE    SHOP   IN   THE   VILLAGE. 

TWO  or  three  days  have  passed.  The  sun  has  been 
set  for  an  hour,  and  the  night  is  already  rather 
dark  notwithstanding  the  long  twilight  of  these  northern 
regions,  for  a  blanket  of  vapor  has  gathered  over  the 
heaven,  and  a  few  stray  drops  have  begun  to  fall  from 
it.  A  thin  wind  now  and  then  wakes,  and  gives  a 
feeble  puff,  but  seems  immediately  to  change  its  mind 
and  resolve  not  to  blow,  but  let  the  rain  come  down. 
A  drearier-looking  spot  for  human  abode  it  would  be 
difficult  to  imagine,  except  it  were  as  much  of  the 
sandy  Sahara,  or  of  the  ashy,  sage-covered  waste  of 
Western  America.  A  muddy  road  wound  through  huts 
of  turf  —  among  them  one  or  two  of  clay,  and  one  or 
two  of  stone,  which  were  more  like  cottages.  Hardly 
one  had  a  window  two  feet  square,  and  many  of  their 
windows  had  no  glass.  In  almost  all  of  them  the  only 
chimney  was  little  more  than  a  hole  in  the  middle  of 
the  thatch.  This  rendered  the  absence  of  glass  in 
the  windows  not  so  objectionable;  for,  left  without 
ordered  path  to  its  outlet,  the  smoke  preferred  a  cir- 
cuitous route,  and  lingered  by  the  way,  filling  the  air. 
Peat  smoke,  however,  is  both  wholesome  and  pleasant, 
nor  was  there  mingled  with  it  any  disagreeable  smell 
of  cooking.  Outside  were  no  lamps;  the  road  was 
unlighted  save  by  the  few  rays  that  here  and  there 
crept  from  a  window,  casting  a  doubtful  glimmer  on 

the  mire. 

31 


32  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

One  of  the  better  cottages  sent  out  a  little  better 
light,  though  only  from  a  tallow  candle,  through  the 
open  upper  half  of  a  door  divided  in  two  horizontally. 
Except  by  that  same  half-door,  indeed,  little  light  could 
enter  the  place,  for  its  one  window  was  filled  with  all 
sorts  of  little  things  for  sale.  Small  and  inconvenient 
for  the  humblest  commerce,  this  was  not  merely  the 
best,  it  was  the  only  shop  in  the  hamlet. 

There  were  two  persons  in  it,  one  before  and  one  be- 
hind the  counter.  The  latter  was  a  young  woman, 
the  former  a  man. 

He  was  leaning  over  the  counter  —  whether  from 
weariness,  listlessness,  or  interest  in  his  talk  with  the 
girl  behind,  it  would  not  have  been  easy,  in  the  dim 
light  arid  deep  shadow,  to  say.  He  seemed  quite  at 
home,  yet  the  young  woman  treated  him  with  a  marked, 
though  unembarrassed  respect.  The  candle  stood  to 
one  side  of  them  upon  the  counter,  making  a  ghastly 
halo  in  the  damp  air ;  and  in  the  light  puff  that  occa- 
sionally came  in  at  the  door,  casting  the  shadow  of  one 
of  a  pair  of  scales,  now  on  this  now  on  that  of  the 
two  faces.  The  young  woman  was  tall  and  dark,  with 
a  large  forehead: — so  much  could  be  seen;  but  the 
sweetness  of  her  mouth,  the  blueness  of  her  eyes,  the 
extreme  darkness  of  her  hair,  were  not  to  be  distin- 
guished. The  man  was  also  dark.  His  coat  was  of 
some  rough  brown  material,  probably  dyed  and  woven 
in  the  village,  and  his  kilt  of  tartan.  They  were  more 
than  well  worn  —  looking  even  in  that  poor  light  a 
little  shabby.  On  his  head  was  the  highland  bonnet 
called  a  glengarry.  His  profile  was  remarkable  — 
hardly  less  than  grand,  writh  a  certain  aquiline  expres- 
sion, although  the  nose  was  not  roman.  His  eyes 
appeared  very  dark,  but  in  the  daylight  were  greenish 


THE    SHOP   IN    THE    VILLAGE.  33 

hazel.  Usually  he  talked  with  the  girl  in  Gaelic,  but 
was  now  speaking  English,  a  far  purer  English  than 
that  of  most  English  people,  though  with  something 
of  the  character  of  book-English  as  distinguished  from 
conversation-English,  and  a  very  perceptible  accent. 

"  And  when  was  it  you  heard  from  Lachlan,  Annie  ?  " 
he  asked. 

After  a  moment's  pause,  during  which  she  had  been 
putting  away  things  in  a  drawer  of  the  counter  —  not 
so  big  as  many  a  kitchen  dresser  — 

"Last  Thursday  it  was,  sir,"  the  girl  answered. 
"  You  know  we  hear  every  month,  sometimes  oftener." 

"Yes;  I  know  that.  —  I  hope  the  dear  fellow  is 
well?" 

"  He  is  quite  well  and  of  good  hope.  He  says  he 
will  soon  come  and  see  us  now." 

"  And  take  you  away,  Annie  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  returned  Annie,  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation, "  he  does  not  say  so." 

"  If  he  did  not  mean  it,  he  would  be  a  rascal,  and  I 
should  have  to  kill  him.  But  my  life  on  Lachlan's 
honesty !  " 

"  Thank  you,  sir.     He  would  lay  down  his  for  you." 

"Not  if  you  said  to  him,  Dorit!  —  eh,  Annie?" 

"  But  he  would,  Macruadh !  "  returned  the  young 
woman,  almost  angrily.  "Are  not  you  his  chief?" 

<c  Ah,  that  is  all  over  now,  my  girl !  There  are  no 
chiefs,  and  no  clans  any  more  !  The  chiefs  that  need 
not,  yet  sell  their  land  like  Esau  for  a  mess  of  pottage 
—  and  their  brothers  with  it !  And  the  Sasunnach  who 
buys  it,  claims  rights  over  them  that  never  grew  on  the 
land  or  were  hid  in  its  caves !  Thank  God,  the  poor 
man  is  not  their  slave,  but  he  is  the  worse  off,  for  they 
will  not  let  him  eat,  and  he  has  nowhere  to  go.  My 


34  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

heart  is  like  to  break  for  my  people.  Sometimes  I  feel 
as  if  I  would  gladly  die." 

"  Oh,  sir  !  don't  say  that ! "  expostulated  the  young 
woman,  and  her  voice  trembled.  "  Every  heart  in 
Glenruadh  is  glad  when  it  goes  well  with  the  Macruadh." 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know  you  all  love  my  father's  son  and 
my  uncle's  nephew  ;  but  how  can  it  go  well  with  the 
Macruadh  when  it  goes  ill  with  his  clan  ?  There  is  no 
way  now  for  a  chief  to  be  father  of  his  family ;  we  are 
all  poor  together !  My  uncle  —  God  rest  his  soul !  — 
they  managed  it  so,  I  suppose,  as  to  persuade  him  there 
was  no  help  for  it  1  Well,  a  man  must  be  an  honest 
man,  even  if  there  be  no  way  but  ruin !  God  knows, 
as  we've  all  heard  my  father  say  a  hundred  times  from 
the  pulpit,  there's  no  ruin  but  dishonesty !  For  poverty 
and  hard  work,  he's  a  poor  creature  would  crouch  for 
those  ! " 

"  He  who  well  goes  down  hill,  holds  his  head  up ! " 
said  Annie,  and  a  pause  followed. 

"  There  are  strangers  at  the  New  House^  we  hear ! " 
she  said. 

"  From  a  distance  I  saw  some  young  ladies,  and  one 
or  two  men.  I  don't  desire  to  see  more  of  them.  God 
forbid  I  should  wish  them  any  manner  of  harm  !  but 
—  I  hardly  understand  myself  —  I  don't  like  to  see 
them  there.  I  am  afraid  it  is  pride.  They  are  rich,  I 
bear,  so  we  shall  not  be  troubled  with  attention  from 
them ;  they  will  look  down  upon  us  — 

"Look  down  on  the  Macruadh  !  "  exclaimed  Annie, 
as  if  she  could  not  believe  her  ears. 

"  —  not  that  I  should  heed  that !  "  he  went  on.  "  A 
cock  on  the  barn-ridge  looks  down  on  you,  and  you 
don't  feel  offended  !  What  I  do  dread  is  looking  down 
on  them.  There  is  something  in  me  that  can  hate, 


THE    SHOP    IN    THE    VILLAGE.  85 

Annie,  and  I  fear  it.  There's  something  about  the 
land  —  I  don't  care  about  money,  but  I  feel  like  a  miser 
about  the  land !  —  I  don't  mean  any  land ;  I  shouldn't 
care  to  buy  land  unless  it  had  once  been  ours ;  but 
what  came  down  to  me  from  my  own  pebple  —  with 
my  own  people  upon  it  —  I  would  rather  turn  the 
spigot  of  the  molten  gold  and  let  it  run  down  the 
abyss,  than  let  a  rood  of  that  slip  from  me !  I  feel  it  a 
disgrace  to  have  lost  it,  though  I  never  had  it ! " 

"  Indeed,  Macruadh,"  said  Annie,  "  it's  a  hard  time ! 
There  is  no  money  in  the  country !  And  fast  the  peo- 
ple are  going  after  Lachlan !  " 

"  I  shall  miss  you,  Annie  !  " 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  us  all,  sir." 

"  Are  you  not  all  my  own  ?  And  you  I  have  to  take 
care  of  for  Lachlan's  sake  besides.  He  left  you  sol- 
emnly to  my  charge  —  as  if  that  had  been  necessary,  the 
foolish  fellow,  when  we  are  foster-brothers !  " 

Again  came  a  pause. 

"  Not  a  gentleman-farmer  left  from  one  end  of  the 
strath  to  the  other !  "  said  the  chief  at  length.  "  When 

o 

Ian  is  at  home,  we  feel  just  like  two  old  turkey-cocks 
left  alone  in  the  yard !  " 

"Say  two  golden  eagles,  sir,  on  the  cliff  of  the 
rock." 

"  Don't  compare  us  to  the  eagle,  Annie.  I  do  not 
love  the  bird.  He  is  very  proud  and  greedy  and  cruel, 
and  never  will  know  the  hand  that  tames  him.  He  is 
the  bird  of  the  monarch  or  the  earl,  not  the  bird  of  the 
father  of  his  people.  But  he  is  beautiful,  and  I  do  not 
kill  him." 

"They  shot  another,  the  female  bird,  last  week !  All 
the  birds  are  going !  Soon  there  will  be  nothing  but 
the  great  sheep  and  the  little  grouse.  The  capercail- 


36  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

zie's  gone,  and  the  ptarmigan's  gone !  —  Well,  there's 
a  world  beyond !  " 

"  Where  the  birds  go,  Annie  ?  —  Well,  it  may  be f 
But  the  ptarmigan's  not  gone  yet,  though  there  are  not 
many;  and  for  the  capercailzie — only  who  that  loves 
them  will  be  here  to  see!  —  But  do  you  really  think 
there  is  a  heaven  for  all  God's  creatures,  Annie  ?  Ian 
does." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  said  to  make  you  think  so,  sir ! 
When  the  heart  aches  the  tongue  mistakes.  But  how 
is  my  lady,  your  mother  ?  " 

"Pretty  well,  thank  you  —  wonderfully  cheerful.  It 
is  time  I  went  home  to  her.  Lachlan  would  think  I 
was  playing  him  false,  and  making  love  to  you  on  my 
own  account !  " 

"No  fear!  He  would  know  better  than  that!  He 
would  know  too,  if  she  was  not  belonging  to  Lachlan, 
her  father's  daughter  would  not  let  her  chief  humble 
himself." 

"  You're  one  of  the  old  sort,  Annie !  Good-night ! 
Mind  you  tell  Lachlan  I  never  miss  a  chance  of  look- 
ing in  to  see  how  you  are  getting  on." 

"  I  will.     Good-night,  Macruadh." 

They  shook  hands  over  the  counter,  and  the  young 
chief  took  his  departure. 

As  he  stood  up,  he  showed  a  fine-made,  powerful 
frame,  over  six  feet  in  height,  and  perfectly  poised. 
With  a  great  easy  stride  he  swept  silently  out  of  the 
shop ;  nor  from  gait  any  more  than  look  would  one 
have  thought  lie  had  been  all  day  at  work  on  the  rem- 
nant of  property  he  could  call  his  own. 

To  a  cit  it  would  have  seemed  strange  that  one 
sprung  from  innumerable  patriarchal  ancestors  holding 
the  land  of  the  country,  should  talk  so  familiarly  with 


THE    SHOP   IN    THE    VILLAGE.  37 

a  girl  in  a  miserable  little  shop  in  a  most  miserable 
hamlet ;  it  would  have  seemed  stranger  yet  that  such 
a  one  should  toil  at  the  labor  the  soul  of  a  cit  despises ; 
but  stranger  than  both  it  would  seem  to  him,  if  he  saw 
how  such  a  man  is  tempted  to  look  down  upon  him. 
Less  cleverness  is  required  for  country  affairs,  and  so 
they  leave  more  room  for  thinking.  There  are  great  and 
small  in  every  class  —  here  and  there  a  ploughman  that 
understands  Burns,  and  here  and  there  a  large-minded 
shopkeeper,  here  and  there  perhaps  an  unselfish  duke. 
Doubtless  the  youth's  ancestors,  almost  all,  would  like- 
wise have  held  such  labor  unworthy  of  a  gentleman, 
and  preferred  driving  to  their  hills  a  herd  of  lowland 
cattle  ;  but  this,  the  last  Macruadh,  had  now  and  then 
a  peep  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    CHIEF. 

THE  Macruadh  strode  into  the  dark,  and  down  the 
village,  wasting  no  time  in  picking  his  way  — 
thence  into  the  yet  deeper  dark  of  the  moorland  hills. 
The  rain  was  beginning  to  come  down  in  earnest,  but 
he  did  not  heed  it ;  he  was  thorough-bred,  and  feared 
no  element.  An  umbrella  was  to  him.  a  ludicrous 
thing :  how  could  a  little  rain  —  as  he  would  have  called 
it  had  it  come  down  in  torrents  —  hurt  any  one  ! 

The  Macruadh,  as  the  few  who  yet  held  by  the  sore- 
frayed,  fast-vanishing  skirt  of  clanship,  called  him, 
was  the  son  of  the  last  minister  of  the  parish  —  a  godly 
man,  who  lived  that  which  he  could  ill  explain,  and 
was  immeasurably  better  than  those  parts  of  his  creed 
which,  from  a  sense  of  duty,  he  pushed  to  the  front. 
For  he  held  devoutly  the  root  of  which  he  spoke 
too  little,  and  it  supplied  much  sap  to  his  life  and 
teaching  out  of  the  pulpit.  He  was  a  genial,  friendly, 
and  by  nature  even  merry  man,  always  ready  to  share 
what  he  had,  and  making  no  show  of  having  what  he 
had  not,  either  in  wisdom,  knowledge  or  earthly 
goods.  His  father  and  brother  had  been  owners  of 
the  property  and  chiefs  of  the  clan,  much  beloved  by 
the  poor  of  it,  and  not  a  little  misunderstood  by  most 
of  the  more  flourishing.  For  a  great  hunger  after  larger 
means,  the  ambition  of  the  mammon-ruled  world,  had 
arisen  in  the  land,  and  with  it  a  rage  for  emigration. 

38 


THE    CHIEF.  39 


The  uncle  of  the  present  Macruadh  did  all  he  could  to 
keep  his  people  at  home,  lived  on  a  couple  of  hundreds 
a  year  himself,  and  let  many  of  his  farms  to  his  gentle- 
men-tacksmen,  as  they  were  called,  at  lower  rents ;  but 
it  was  unavailing ;  one  after  another  departed,  until 
his  land 'lay  in  a  measure  waste,  and  grew  very  poor, 
mourning  far  more  over  his  clan  and  his  country  than 
his  poverty.  In  more  prosperous  times  he  had  scraped 
together  a  little  money,  meaning  it,  if  he  could  but 
avoid  spending  it  in  his  old  age,  for  his  brother,  who 
must  soon  succeed  him ;  for  he  was  himself  a  bachelor 
—  the  result  of  a  romantic  attachment  and  sorrow  in 
his  youth.  But  he  had  placed  it  in  a  bank  the  mana- 
gers of  which  became  dishonest,  and  so  he  lost  it.  At 
length  he  believed  himself  compelled,  for  the  good  of 
his  people,  to  part  with  all  but  a  mere  remnant  of  the 
property.  From  the  man  to  whom  he  sold  it,  Mr. 
Peregrine  Palmer  bought  it  for  twice  the  money,  and 
had  still  a  good  bargain.  But  the  hopes  of  the  laird 
were  disappointed.  In  the  sheep  it  fed,  and  the  grouse 
it  might  be  brought  to  breed,  lay  all  its  value  in  the 
market,  and  more  and  more  of  the  peasantry  emigrated, 
or  were  driven  to  other  parts  of  the  country.  But  such 
ownership  of  land  as  causes  human  life  to  ebb  from  it 
works  directly  counter  to  the  creative  God,  and  when 
the  stone  falls  upon  them,  it  will  grind  them  to  powder. 

The  laird  retired  to  the  humble  cottage  of  his  brother 
the  pastor,  just  married  rather  late  in  life — where 
every  comfort  love  could  give  waited  for  him ;  but  the 
thought  that  he  could  have  done  better  for  his  people 
by  retaining  the  land  soon  wore  him  out ;  and  having 
made  a  certain  disposition  of  the  purchase-money,  he 
died. 

What  remained  of  the  property  came  to  the  minister. 


40  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

As  for  the  chieftainship,  that  had  almost  died  before 
the  chief ;  but,  reviving  by  union  with  the  reverence 
felt  for  the  minister,  it  took  thereafter  a  higher  form. 
When  the  minister  died,  the  idea  of  it  transmitted  to 
his  son  was  of  a  peculiarly  sacred  character ;  while  in 
the  eyes  of  the  people,  the  authority  of  the  chief  and 
the  influence  of  the  minister  seemed  to  meet  reborn  in 
A  lister  notwithstanding  his  youth.  In  himself  he  was 
much  beloved,  and  in  love  the  blessed  rule,  blessed 
where  understood,  holds,  that  to  him  that  hath  shall  be 
given,  he  only  who  has  being  fit  to  receive.  The  love 
the  people  bore  to  his  father,  both  pastor  and  chief, 
crowned  head  and  heart  of  Alister.  Scarce  man  or 
woman  of  the  poor  remnant  of  the  clan  did  not  love 
young  Macruadh. 

On  his  side  was  true  response.  With  a  renewed 
and  renovating  conscience,  and  a  vivid  sense  that  all 
things  had  to  be  made  new,  he  possessed  an  old  strong 
heart,  clinging  first  to  his  father  and  mother,  and  then 
to  the  shadow  even  of  any  good  thing  that  had  come 
floating  down  the  ages.  Call  it  a  dream,  a  wild  ideal, 
a  foolish  fancy  —  call  it  what  you  please,  he  was  filled 
with  the  notion  of  doing  something  in  his  own  person 
and  family,  with  the  remnant  of  the  clan  for  a  nucleus 
of  endeavor,  to  restore  to  a  vital  reality,  let  it  be  of 
smallest  extent,  the  most  ancient  of  governments,  that 
of  the  patriarch,  which  all  around  had  rotted  into  the 
feudal,  in  its  turn  rapidly  disintegrating  into  the  mere 
dust  and  ashes  of  the  kingdom  of  the  dead,  over  which 
mammon  reigns  supreme.  There  may  have  been 
youthful  presumption  and  some  folly  in  the  notion,  but 
it  sprang  neither  from  presumption  nor  folly,  but  from 
simple  humanity,  and  his  sense  of  the  responsibility  he 
was  bound  to  undertake  as  the  person  upon  whom  had 


THE    CHIEF.  41 


devolved  the  hardship,  however  shadowy,  of  a  house, 
ruinous  indeed,  but  not  yet  razed. 

The  ruin  on  the  ridge  stood  the  symbol  of  the  family 
condition.  It  had,  however,  been  a  ruin  much  longer 
than  any  one  alive  could  remember.  Alister's  uncle 
had  lived  in  a  house  on  the  spot  where  Mr.  Peregrine 
Palmer's  now  stood ;  the  man  who  bought  it  had  pulled 
it  down  to  build  that  which  Mr.  Palmer  had  since 
enlarged.  It  was  but  a  humble  affair  —  a  great  cot- 
tage in  stone,  much  in  the  style  of  that  in  which  the 
young  chief  now  lived  —  only  six  times  the  size,  with 
the  one  feature  indispensable  to  the  notion  of  a  chief's 
residence,  a  large  hall.  Some  would  say  it  was  but  a 
huge  kitchen  ;  but  it  was  the  sacred  place  of  the  house, 
in  which  served  the  angel  of  hospitality.  There  was 
always  plenty  to  eat  and  drink  for  any  comer,  whether 
he  had  "  claim "  or  not :  the  question  of  claim  where 
was  need,  was  not  thought  of.  When  the  old  house 
had  to  make  room  for  the  new,  the  staves  of  the  last 
of  its  half-pipes  of  claret,  one  of  which  used  always  to 
stand  on  tap  amidst  the  peat-smoke,  yielded  its  final 
ministration  to  humanity  by  serving  to  cook  a  few 
meals  for  mason  and  carpenter. 

The  property  of  Clanruadh,  for  it  was  regarded  as 
clan-property  because  belonging  to  the  chief,  stretched 
in  old  time  away  out  of  sight  in  all  directions  —  no- 
body, in  several,  could  tell  exactly  how  far,  for  the 
undrawn  boundary  lines  lay  in  regions  of  mist  and 
cloud,  in  regions  stony,  rocky,  desert,  to  which  a  red 
deer,  not  to  say  a  stray  sheep,  rarely  ascended.  At  one 
time  it  took  in  a  portion  at  least  of  every  hill  to  be 
seen  from  the  spot  where  stood  the  ruin.  The  chief 
had  now  but  a  small  farm,  consisting  of  some  fair  soil 
on  the  slope  of  a  hill ;  some  very  good  in  the  valley  on 


42  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

both  sides  of  the  burn  ;  and  a  hill-pasture  that  was  not 
worth  measuring  in  acres,  for  it  abounded  in  rocks,  and 
was  prolific  in  heather  and  ling,  with  patches  of  coarse 
grass  here  and  there,  and  some  extent  of  good  high- 
valley  grass  for  the  small  black  cattle  and  black-faced 
sheep  in  summer.  Beyond  periodical  burnings  of  the 
heather,  this  uplifted  portion  received  no  attention  save 
from  the  mist,  the  snow,  the  rain,  the  sun,  and  the 
sweet  air.  A  few  grouse  and  black  game  bred  on  it, 
and  many  mountain-hares,  with  martens,  wild  cats,  and 
other  vermin.  But  so  tender  of  life  was  the  Macruadh 
that,  though  he  did  not  spare  these  last,  he  did  not  like 
killing  even  a  fox  or  a  hooded  crow,  and  never  shot  a 
bird,  for  sport,  or  would  let  another  shoot  one,  though 
the  poorest  would  now  and  then  beg  a  bird  or  two  from 
him,  sure  of  having  their  request.  It  seemed  to  him  as 
if  the  creatures  were  almost  a  part  of  his  clan,  anfr 
that  he  had  to  take  care  of  them  too  from  a  greedy 
world.  But  as  the  deer  and  the  birds  ranged  where 
they  would,  it  was  not  much  he  could  do  for  them  —  as 
little  almost  as  for  those  that  had  gone  over  the  sea, 
and  were  lost  to  their  country  in  Canada. 

Regret,  and  not  any  murmur,  stirred  the  mind  of 
Alister  Macruadh  when  he  thought  of  the  change  that 
had  passed  on  all  things  around  him.  He  had  been  too 
well  taught  for  grumbling  —  least  of  all  at  what  was 
plainly  the  will  of  the  Supreme  —  inasmuch  as,  how- 
ever man  might  be  to  blame,  the  thing  was  there. 

Personal  regrets  he  had  none  beyond  those  of  family 
feeling  and  transmitted  sentiment.  He  was  able  to 
understand  something  of  the  signs  of  the  times,  and 
saw  that  nothing  could  bring  back  the  old  way  —  saw 
that  nothing  comes  back  —  at  least  in  the  same  form  ; 
saw  that  there  had  been  much  that  ought  not  to  come 


THE    CHIEF.  43 


back,  and  that,  if  patriarchal  ways  were  ever  to  return, 
they  must  rise  out  of,  and  be  administered  upon  loftier 
principles  —  must  begin  afresh,  and  be  wrought  out 
afresh  from  the  bosom  of  a  new  Abraham,  capable  of 
so  bringing  up  his  children  that  a  new  development  of 
the  one  natural  system  of  government  should  be  possi- 
ble with  them.  Perhaps  even  now,  in  the  new  country 
to  which  so  many  of  his  people  were  gone,  some 
shadowy  reappearance  of  the  old  fashion  might  have 
begun  to  take  shape  on  a  higher  level,  with  loftier  aims, 
and  in  circumstances  holding  fewer  temptations  to  the 
evils  of  the  past! 

Alister  could  not,  at  his  years,  have  generated  such 
thoughts  but  for  the  wisdom  that  had  gone  before  him 
—  first  the  large-minded  speculation  of  his  father,  who 
was  capable  even  of  discarding  his  prejudices  where 
he  saw  they  might  mislead  him ;  and  next,  the  response 
of  his  mother  to  the  same :  she  was  the  only  one  who 
entirely  understood  her  husband.  Isobel  Macruadh 
was  a  woman  of  real  thinking-power.  Her  sons  being 
but  boys  when  their  father  died,  she  at  once  took  the 
part  of  mediator  between  the  mind  of  the  father  and 
that  of  his  sons ;  besides  guiding  them  on  the  same 
principles,  she  often  told  them  things  their  father  had 
said,  and  talked  with  them  of  things  he  used  to  say. 
They  had  not  many  books,  and  no  new  ones  were  for  a 
long  time  accessible  to  them. 

One  of  the  chief  lessons  he  had  left  them  wrought 
well  for  the  casting  out  of  all  with  which  the  feudal 
system  had  debased  the  patriarchal ;  and  the  poverty 
shared  with  the  clan  had  powerfully  helped:  it  was 
spoken  against  the  growing  talionic  regard  of  human 
relations  —  that  the  conditions  of  a  bargain  fulfilled  on 
both  sides,  all  is  fulfilled  between  the  bargaining  parties. 


44  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"In  the  possibility  of  any  bargain,"  lie  had  said, 
"  are  involved  eternal  conditions :  there  is  relationship 
—  there  is  brotherhood.  Even  to  give  with  a  denial  of 
claim,  to  be  kind  under  protest,  is  an  injury,  is  charity 
without  the  love,  is  salt  without  the  saltness.  If  we 
spent  our  lives  in  charity  we  should  never  overtake 
neglected  claims  —  claims  neglected  from  the  very  be- 
ginning of  the  relations  of  men.  If  a  man  say,  '  I  have 
not  been  unjust ;  I  owed  the  man  nothing;'  he  sides 
with  Death  —  says  with  the  typical  murderer,  '  Am  I 
my  brother's  keeper  ? '  builds  the  tombs  of  those  his 
father  slew." 

In  the  bosom  of  young  Alister  Macruadh,  the 
fatherly  relation  of  the  strong  to  the  weak  survived 
the  disappearance  of  most  of  the  outward  signs  of 
clan-kindred :  the  chieftainship  was  sublimed  in  him. 
The  more  the  body  of  outer  fact  died,  the  stronger 
grew  in  him  the  spirit  of  the  relation.  As  some  savage 
element  of  the  race  will  reappear  in  an  individual  of  it 
after  ages  of  civilization,  so  may  old  ways  of  thinking 
and  feeling,  modes  long  gone  out  of  fashion  and  prac- 
tice, survive  and  revive  modified  by  circumstance,  in  an 
individual  of  a  new  age.  Such  a  one  will  see  the  cus- 
toms of  his  ancestors  glorified  in  the  mists  of  the  past ; 
what  is  noble  in  them  will  appeal  to  all  that  is  best  in 
his  nature,  spurring  the  most  generous  of  his  impulses, 
and  stirring  up  the  conscience  that  would  be  void  of 
offence.  When  the  operative  force  of  such  regards 
has  been  fostered  by  the  teaching  of  a  revered  parent ; 
when  the  influences  he  has  left  behind  are  nourished 
and  tended,  with  thorough  belief  and  devoted  care,  by 
her  who  shared  his  authority  in  life,  and  now  bears 
alone  the  family  sceptre,  there  can  be  no  bounc4  set  to 
their  possible  potency  in  a  mind  of  high  spiritual  order. 


THE    CHIEF.  45 


The  primary  impulse  became  with  Alister  a  large  por- 
tion of  his  religion :  he  was  the  shepherd  of  the  much 
ravaged  and  dwindled  Macruadh-fold ;  it  was  his  church, 
in  which  the  love  of  the  neighbor  was  intensified  in 
the  love  of  the  relation  and  dependent.  To  aid  and 
guard  these  his  flock,  was  Alister's  divine  service.  It 
was  associated  with  a  great  dislike  of  dogma,  origina- 
ting in  the  recoil  of  the  truth  within  him  from  much 
that  was  commonly  held  and  taught  for  true. 

Call  the  thing  enthusiasm  or  what  you  will,  so  you 
believe  it  there,  and  genuine. 

It  was  only  towards  the  poor  of  a  decayed  clan  he 
had  opportunity  of  exercising  the  cherished  relation  ; 
almost  all  who  were  not  poor  had  emigrated  before  the 
lands  were  sold ;  and  indeed  it  was  only  the  poor  who 
set  store  by  their  unity  with  the  old  head.  Not  a  few 
of  the  clan,  removed  elsewhere,  would  have  smiled 
degenerate,  and  not  without  scorn  in  their  amusement, 
at  the  idea  of  Alister's  clinging  to  any  supposed  reality 
in  the  position  he  could  claim.  Among  such  neverthe- 
less were  several  who,  having  made  money  by  trade, 
would  each  have  been  glad  enough  to  keep  up  old 
traditions,  and  ready  even  to  revive  older,  had  the 
headship  fallen  to  him.  But  in  the  hands  of  a  man 
whom,  from  the  top  of  their  wealth,  they  regarded  as 
but  a  poor  farmer,  they  forgot  all  about  it  —  along  with 
a  few  other  more  important  and  older-world  matters  ; 
for  where  Mammon  gets  in  his  foot,  he  will  soon  be 
lord  of  the  house,  and  turn  not  merely  Rank,  his  rival 
demon,  out  of  doors,  but  God  himself.  Alister  indeed 
lived  in. a  dream  ;  he  did  not  know  how  far  the  sea  of 
hearts  had  ebbed,  leaving  him  alone  on  the  mount  of 
his  vision ;  but  he  dreamed  a  dream  that  was  worth 


46  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

dreaming ;  comfort  and  help  flowed  from  it  to  those 
about  him,  nor  did  his  own  soul  fail  to  drink  refresh- 
ment also.  All  dreams  are  not  false ;  s<tme  dreams  are 
truer  than  the  plainest  facts.  Fact  at  best  is  but  a 
garment  of  truth,  which  has  ten  thousand  changes  of 
raiment  woven  in  the  same  loom.  Let  the  dreamer 
only  do  the  truth  of  his  dream,  and  one  day  he  will 
realize  all  that  was  worth  realizing  in  it  —  and  a  great 
deal  more  and  better  than  it  contained.  Alister  had 
no  far-reaching  visions  of  anything  to  come  out  of  his  ; 
he  had,  like  the  true  man  he  was,  only  the  desire  to 
live  up  to  his  idea  of  what  the  people  looked  up  to  in 
him.  The  one  thing  that  troubled  him  was,  that  his 
uncle,  whom  he  loved  so  dearly,  should  have  sold  the 
land. 

Doubtless  there  was  pride  mingled  with  his  devotion, 
and  pride  is  an  evil  thing.  Still  it  was  a  human  and 
not  a  devilish  pride.  I  would  not  be  misunderstood  as 
defending  pride,  or  even  excusing  it  in  any  shape  ;  it  is 
a  thing  that  must  be  got  rid  of  at  all  costs ;  but  even 
for  evil  we  must  speak  the  truth ;  and  the  pride  of  a 
good  man,  evil  as  it  is,  and  in  him  more  evil  than  in  an 
evil  man,  yet  cannot  be  in  itself  such  a  bad  thing  as 
the  pride  of  a  bad  man.  The  good  man  would  at  once 
recognize  and  reject  the  pride  of  a  bad  man.  A  pride 
that  loves  cannot  be  so  bad  as  a  pride  that  hates.  Yet 
if  the  good  man  do  not  cast  out  his  pride,  it  will  sink 
him  lower  than  the  bad  man's,  for  it  will  degenerate 
into  a  worse  pride  than  that  of  any  bad  man.  Each 
must  bring  its  own  divinely-ordained  consequence. 

There  is  one  other  point  in  the  character  of  the 
Macruadh  which  I  must  mention  ere  I  pass  on  ;,  in  this 
region,  and  at  this  time,  it  was  a  great  peculiarity,  one 
that  yielded  satisfaction  to  few  of  the  clan,  and  made 


THE    CHIEF.  47 


him  even  despised  in  the  strath :  he  hated  whisky,  and 
ail  the  drinking  customs  associated  with  it.  In  this  he 
was  not  original ;  he  had  not  come  to  hate  it  from 

O  ' 

noting  the  degradation  and  crime  that  attended  it,  or 
that  as  drunkenness  grew,  poverty  grew,  and  that  men 
who  had  used  it  in  moderation  took  more  and  more 
when  circumstances  were  adverse,  turning  sadness  into 
slavery  :  he  had  been  brought  up  to  hate  it.  His  father, 
who,  as  a  clergyman  doing  his  endeavor  for  the  welfare 
of  his  flock,  found  himself  greatly  thwarted  by  its 
deadening  influences,  rendering  men  callous  not  only 
to  the  special  vice  itself,  but  to  worse  vices  as  well,  had 
banished  it  from  his  table  and  his  house ;  while  the 
mother  had  from  their  very  childhood  instilled  a  loath- 
ing of  the  national  weakness  and  its  physical  means 
into  the  minds  of  her  sons.  In  her  childhood  she  had 
seen  its  evils  in  her  own  father :  by  no  means  a  drunk- 
ard, he  was  the  less  of  a  father  because  he  did  as 
others  did.  Never  an  evening  passed  on  which  he  did 
not  drink  his  stated  portion  of  whisky-toddy,  growing 
more  and  more  subject  to  attacks  of  bad  temper,  with 
consequent  injustice  and  unkindness.  The  recollection 
may  have  made  her  too  sweeping  in  her  condemnation 
of  the  habit,  but  I  doubt  it ;  and  anyhow  a  habit  is  not 
a  man,  and  we  need  not  much  condemn  that  kind  of 
injustice.  We  need  not  be  tender  over  a  habit  which, 
though  not  all  bad,  yet  leads  to  endless  results  that  are 
all  bad.  I  would  follow  such  to  its  grave  without  many 
tears ! 

Isobel  Macruadh  was  one  of  those  rare  women  who 
preserve  in  years  the  influence  gained  in  youth ;  and 
the  thing  that  lay  at  the  root  of  the  fact  was  her  jus- 
tice. For  though  her  highland  temper  would  occasion- 
ally burst  out  in  hot  flame,  everyone  knew  that  if  she 


48  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

were  in  the  wrong,  she  would  see  it  and  say  it  before 
any  one  else  would  tell  her  of  it.  This  justice  it  was, 
ready  against  herself  as  for  another,  that  fixed  the  in- 
fluence which  her  goodness  and  her  teaching  of  right- 
eousness gained. 

Her  eldest  child,  a  girl,  died  in  infancy.  Alister  and 
Ian  were  her  whole  earthly  family,  and  they  worshipped 
her. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WORK   AND   WAGE. 

A  LISTER  strode  through  the  night,  revolving  no 
-£-*-  questions  hard  to  solve,  though  such  were  not 
strangers  to  him.  He  had  not  been  to  a  university  like 
his  brother,  but  he  had  had  a  good  educational  begin- 
ning —  who  ever  had  more  than  a  beginning  ?  —  chiefly 
from  his  father,  who  for  his  time  and  opportunity  was 
even  a  learned  man  —  and  better,  a  man  who  knew 
what  things  were  worth  a  man's  human  while,  and 
what  were  not :  he  could  and  did  think  about  things 
that  a  man  must  think  about  or  perish ;  and  his  son 
Alister  had  made  himself  able  to  think  about  what  he 
did  not  know,  by  doing  the  thing  he  did  know.  But 
now,  as  he  walked,  fighting  with  the  wind,  his  bonnet 
of  little  shelter  pulled  down  on  his  forehead,  he  was 
thinking  mostly  of  Lachlan  his  foster-brother,  whose 
devotion  had  done  much  to  nourish  in  him  the  sense 
that  he  was  head  of  the  clan.  —  He  had  not  far  to  go 
to  reach  his  home  —  about  a  couple  of  miles. 

He  had  left  the  village  a  quarter  of  the  way  behind 
him,  when  through  the  darkness  he  spied  something 
darker  yet  by  the  road-side.  Going  up  to  it,  he  found 
an  old  woman,  half  sitting,  half  standing,  with  a  load 
of  peats  in  a  creel  upon  her  back,  unable,  apparently, 
for  the  moment  at  least,  to  proceed.  Alister  knew  at 
once  by  her  shape  and  posture  who  she  was. 

"  Ah,  mistress  Conal,"  he  said,  "  I  am  sorry  to  see 
49 


50  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

you  resting  on  such  a  night  so  near  your  own  door.  It 
means  you  have  filled  your  creel  too  full,  and  tired 
yourself  too  much." 

"  I  am  not  too  much  tired,  Macruadh ! "  returned  the 
old  woman,  who  was  proud  and  cross-tempered,  and 
had  a  reputation  for  witchcraft,  which  did  her  neither 
much  good  nor  much  harm. 

"  Well,  whether  you  are  tired  or  not,  I  believe  I  am 
the  stronger  of  the  two  !  " 

"  Small  doubt  of  that,  Alister !  "  said  mistress  Conal 
with  a  sigh. 

"  Then  I  will  take  your  creel,  and  you  will  soon  be 
home.  Come  along  !  It  is  going  to  be  a  wild  night !  " 

So  saying  he  took  the  rope  from  the  neck  of  the  old 
woman  right  gently,  and  threw  the  creel  with  a  strong 
swing  over  his  shoulder,  dislodging  a  few  of  the  top- 
most of  the  peats  which  the  poor  old  thing  had  been  a 
long  way  to  fetch.  She  heard  them  fall,  and  one  of 
them  struck  her  foot.  She  started  up,  almost  in  a 
rage. 

"  Sir !  sir !  my  peats ! "  she  cried.  "  What  would 
you  be  throwing  away  the  good  peats  into  the  dark  for, 
letting  that  swallow  them  they  should  swallow !  " 

These  words,  as  all  that  passed  between  them,  were 
spoken  neither  in  Scotch  nor  English,  but  in  Gaelic  — 
which,  were  I  able  to  write  it  down,  most  of  my 
readers  would  no  more  understand  than  they  would 
Phoenician :  we  must  therefore  content  ourselves  with 
what  their  conversation  comes  to  in  English,  which,  if 
deficient  compared  with  Gaelic  in  vowel-sounds,  yet 
serves  to  say  most  things  capable  of  being  said. 

"  I  am  sorry,  mistress  Conal ;  but  we'll  not  be  losing 
them,"  returned  the  laird  gently,  and  began  to  feel 
about  the  road  for  the  fallen  peats. 


WORK    AND    WAGE.  51 

"  How  many  were  there,  do  you  think,  of  them  that 
fell  ?  "  he  asked,  rising  after  a  vain  search. 

"  How  should  I  be  knowing  !  But  I  am  sure  there 
would  be  nigh  six  of  them !  "  answered  the  woman,  in 
a  tone  of  deep  annoyance  —  nor  was  it  much  wonder ; 
they  were  precious  to  the  cold,  feeble  age  that  had  gone 
so  far  to  fetch  so  few. 

The  laird  again  stooped  his  long  back,  and  searched 
and  searched,  feeling  on  all  sides  around  him.  He 
picked  up  three.  Not  another,  after  searching  for 
several  minutes,  could  he  find. 

"I'm  thinking  that  must  be  all  of  them,  but  I  find 
only  three !  "  he  said.  "  Come,  let  us  go  home  !  You 
must  not  make  your  cough  worse  for  one  or  two  peats, 
perhaps  none  !  " 

"  Three,  Macruadh,  three !  "  insisted  the  old  woman 
in  wavering  voice,  broken  by  coughing;  for,  having 
once  guessed  six,  she  was  not  inclined  to  lower  her 
idea  of  her  goods. 

"  Well,  well !  we'll  count  them  when  we  get  home ! " 
said  Alister,  and  gave  his  hand  to  her  to  help  her  up. 

She  yielded  grumbling,  and,  bowed  still  though 
relieved  from  her  burden,  tottered  by  his  side  along 
the  dark,  muddy,  wind-and-rain-haunted  road. 

"  Did  you  see  my  niece  to-night  at  the  shop  ?  "  she 
asked ;  for  she  was  proud  of  being  so  nearly  related  to 
those  who  kept  the  only  shop  in  the  hamlet. 

"  That  I  did,"  answered  the  chief ;  and  a  little  talk 
followed  about  Lachlan  in  Canada. 

No  one  could  have  perceived  from  the  way  in  which 
the  old  woman  accepted  his  service,  and  the  tone  in 
which  she  spoke  to  him  while  he  bent  under  her  bur- 
den, that  she  no  less  than  loved  her  chief ;  but  every- 
body only  smiled  at  mistress  Conal's  rough  speech. 


52  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

That  night,  ere  she  went  to  bed,  she  prayed  for  the 
Macmadh  as  she  never  prayed  for  one  of  her  immedi- 
ate family.  And  if  there  was  a  good  deal  of  supersti- 
tion mingled  with  her  prayer,  the  main  thing  in  it  was 
genuine,  that  is,  the  love  that  prompted  it ;  and  if  God 
heard  only  perfect  prayers,  how  could  he  be  the  prayer- 
hearing  God? 

Her  dwelling  stood  but  a  stone's-throw  from  the 
road,  and  presently  they  turned  up  to  it  by  a  short 
steep  ascent.  It  was  a  poor  hut,  mostly  built  of  turf; 
but  turf  makes  warm  walls,  impervious  to  the  wind, 
and  it  was  a  place  of  her  own !  —  that  is,  she  had  it  to 
herself,  a  luxury  many  cannot  even  imagine,  while  to 
others  to  be  able  to  be  alone  at  will  seems  one  of  the  origi- 
nal necessities  of  life.  Even  the  Lord,  who  probably  had 
not  always  a  room  to  himself  in  the  poor  houses  he  staid 
at,  could  not  do  without  solitude ;  therefore  not  unfre- 
quently  spent  the  night  in  the  open  air,  on  the  quiet,  star- 
sered  hill :  there  even  for  him  it  would  seem  to  have  been 
easier  to  find  an  entrance  into  that  deeper  solitude  which, 
it  is  true,  he  did  not  need  in  order  to  find  his  Father  and 
his  God,  but  which  apparently  he  did  need  in  order  to 
come  into  closest  contact  with  him  who  was  the  one 
joy  of  his  life,  whether  his  hard  life  on  earth,  or  his 
blessed  life  in  heaven. 

The  Macruadh  set  down  the  creel,  and  taking  out 
peat  after  peat,  piled  them  up  against  the  wall,  where 
already  a  good  many  waited  their  turn  to  be  laid  on 
the  fire ;  for,  as  the  old  woman  said,  she  must  carry  a 
few  when  she  could,  and  get  ahead  with  her  store  ere 
the  winter  came,  or  she  would  soon  be  devoured ;  there 
was  a  death  that  always  prowled  about  old  people,  she 
said,  watching  for  the  fire  to  go  out.  Many  of  the 
Celts  are  by  nature  poets,  and  mistress  Conal  often 


WOKK    AND    WAGE. 


53 


spoke  in  a  manner  seldom  heard  from  the  lips  of  a 
lowland  woman.  The  common  forms  of  Gaelic  are 
more  poetic  than  those  of  most  languages,  and  could 
have  originated  only  with  a  poetic  people,  while  mistress 
Conal  was  by  no  means  an  ordinary  type  of  her  peo- 
ple ;  maugre  her  ill  temper  and  gruff  ness,  she  thought 
as  well  as  spoke  like  a  poetess  —  which  fact,  conjoined 
with  the  gift  of  the  second  sight,  had  helped  her  to  the 
reputation  of  a  witch. 

As  the  chief  piled  the  peats,  he  counted  them.  She 
sat  watching  him  and  them  from  a  stone  that  made 
part  of  a  rude  rampart  to  the  hearth. 

"  I  told  you  so,  Macruadh  !  "  she  said,  the  moment 
she  saw  his  hand  return  empty  from  the  bottom  of  the 
creel.  "  I  was  positive  there  should  be  three  more !  — 
But  what's  on  the  road  is  not  with  the  devil." 

"  I  am  very  sorry ! "  said  the  chief,  who  thought  it 
wiser  not  to  contradict  her. 

He  would  have  searched  his  sporan  for  a  coin  to 
make  up  to  her  for  the  supposed  loss  of  her  peats  ;  but 
he  knew  well  enough  there  was  not  a  coin  in  it.  He 
bade  mistress  Conal  good-night,  shaking  hands  with 
her  of  course,  and  went,  closing  the  door  carefully  be- 
hind him  against  a  great  gust  of  wind  that  struggled 
to  enter,  threatening  to  sweep  the  fire  she  was  now 
blowing  at  with  her  wrinkled,  leather-like  lips,  off  the 
hearth  altogether  —  a  thing  that  had  happened  before, 
to  the  danger  of  the  whole  building,  itself  of  the  sub- 
stance burning  in  the  middle  of  its  floor. 

Macruadh  ran  down  the  last  few  steep  steps  of  the 
path,  and  jumped  into  the  road.  Through  the  dark- 
ness came  the  sound  of  one  springing  aside  with  a 
great  start,  and  the  click  of  a  gun-lock. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "   cried  a  rather  tremulous  voice. 


54  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  The  Macruadh,"  answered  the  chief. 

The  utterance  apparently  conveyed  nothing. 

" Do  you  belong  to  these  parts?"   said  the  voice. 

A  former  Macruadh  might  have  answered,  "  No ; 
these  parts  belong  to  me,"  Alister  curtly  replied,  "I 
do." 

"Here  then,  my  good  fellow!  take  my  game-bag, 
and  carry  it  as  far  as  the  New  House  —  if  you  know 
where  I  mean.  I  will  give  you  a  shilling." 

One  moment  the  chief  spent  in  repressing  a  foolish 
indignation  ;  the  next  he  spent  in  reflection. 

Had  he  seen  how  pale  and  tired  was  the  youth  with 
the  gun,  he  would  have  offered  to  carry  his  bag  for 
him ;  to  offer  and  to  be  asked,  however,  most  people 
find  different ;  and  here  the  offer  of  payment  added  to 
the  difficulty.  But  the  word  shilling  had  raised  the 
vision  of  the  old  woman  in  her  lonely  cottage,  brood- 
ing over  the  loss,  real  or  imaginary  mattered  nothing, 
of  her  three  far-borne  peats.  What  a  happy  night, 
through  all  the  wind  and  the  rain,  would  a  silver  shil- 
ling under  her  chaff  pillow  give  her!  The  thought 
froze  the  chief's  pride,  and  warmed  his  heart.  What 
right  had  he  to  deny  her  such  a  pleasure !  It  would 
cost  him  nothing !  It  would  even  bring  him  a  little 
amusement!  The  chief  of  Clanraudh  carrying  his 
game-bag  for  a  Sasunnach  fellow  to  earn  a  shilling !  — 
the  idea  had  a  touch  of  humorous  consolation  in  it.  I 
will  not  assert  the  consolation  strong  enough  to  cast 
quite  out  a  certain  feeling  of  shame  that  mingled  with 
his  amusement  —  a  shame  which  —  is  it  not  odd  ? — he 
would  not  have  felt  had  his  sporan  been  full  of  sov- 
ereigns. But  the  shame  was  not  altogether  a  shameful 
one ;  a  fanciful  fear  of  degrading  the  chieftainship,  and 
a  vague  sense  of  being  an  impostor,  had  each  a  part  in 


WORK   AND   WAGE.  55 

it.  There  could  be  nothing  dishonest,  however,  in 
earning  a  shilling  for  poor  mistress  Conal ! 

"  I  will  carry  your  bag,"  he  said,  "  but  I  must  have 
the  shilling  first,  if  you  please." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Valentine  Palmer.  "  You  do  not  trust 
me !  How  then  am  I  to  trust  you  ?  " 

"  Sir  !  "  said  Alister  —  and,  again  finding  himself  on 
the  point  of  being  foolish,  laughed. 

"  I  will  pay  you  when  the  job  is  done,"  said  Valen- 
tine. 

"  That  is  quite  fair,  but  it  does  not  suit  my  pur- 
pose," returned  Alister. 

They  were  walking  along  the  road  side  by  side,  but 
each  could  scarcely  see  anything  of  the  other.  The 
sportsman  was  searching  his  pockets  to  find  a  shilling. 
He  succeeded,  and,  groping,  put  it  in  Alister' s  hand, 
with  the  words  — 

"  All  right !  it  is  only  a  shilling !  There  it  is  !  But 
it  is  not  yours  yet :  here  is  the  bag ! " 

Alister  took  the  bag,  turned,  and  ran  back. 

"  Hillo !  "  cried  Valentine. 

But  Alister  had  disappeared,  and  as  soon  as  he  turned 
up  the  soft  path  to  the  cottage,  his  steps  became  inau- 
dible through  the  wind. 

He  opened  the  door,  went  in,  laid  the  shilling  on  the 
back  of  the  old  woman's  hand,  and  without  a  word 
hurried  out  again,  and  down  to  the  road.  The  stranger 
was  some  distance  ahead,  tramping  wearily  on  through 
the  darkness,  and  grumbling  at  his  folly  in  bribing  a 
fellow  with  a  shilling  to  carry  off:  his  game-bag.  Alis- 
ter overtook  him. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are  after  all !  "  exclaimed  Valentine. 
"  1  thought  you  had  made  off  with  work  and  wages 
both !  What  did  you  do  that  for  ?  " 


56  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  I  wanted  to  give  the  shilling  to  an  old  woman  close 
by." 

"  Your  mother  —  eh  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Your  grandmother  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Some  relation  then  !  "  insisted  the  stranger. 

"  Doubtless,"  answered  the  laird. 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  The  youth  could  hardly 
keep  up  with  Alister,  who  thought  him  illbred,  and  did 
not  care  for  his  company. 

"  Why  do  you  walk  so  fast  ?  "  said  Valentine. 

"  Because  I  want  to  get  home,"  replied  Alister. 

"  But  I  paid  you  to  keep  me  company !  " 

"  You  paid  me  to  carry  your  bag.  I  will  leave  it  at 
the  New  House." 

His  coolness  roused  the  weary  youth. 

"  You  rascal ! "  he  said ;  "  you  keep  alongside  of  me, 
or  I'll  pepper  you." 

As  he  spoke,  he  shifted  his  gun.  But  Alister  had 
already,  with  a  few  long  strides,  put  a  space  of  utter 
darkness  between  them.  He  had  taken  the  shilling, 
and  must  carry  the  bag,  but  he  did  not  feel  bound  to 
personal  attendance.  At  the  same  time  he  could  not 
deny  there  was  reason  in  the  man's  unwillingness  to 
trust  him.  What  had  he  about  him  to  give  him  in 
pledge  ?  Nothing  but  his  watch,  his  father's,  a  gift  of 
the  Prince  to  the  head  of  the  family!  —  he  could  not 
profane  that  by  depositing  it  in  pledge  for  a  game  bag ! 
He  must  yield  to  his  employer,  moderate  his  pace,  and 
move  side  by  side  with  the  Sasunnach ! 

Again  they  walked  for  some  distance  in  silence. 
Alister  began  to  discover  that  his  companion  was 
weary,  and  his  good  heart  spoke. 


WORK   AND   WAGE.  57 

"  Let  me  carry  your  gun  for  you,"  he  said. 

"  See  you  damned ! "  returned  Valentine,  with  an 
angry  laugh  :  he  knew  a  trick  worth  two  of  that ! 

"  You  fancy  your  gun  protects  your  bag  ?  " 

"I  do." 

The  same  instant  the  gun  was  drawn,  with  swift 
quiet  force,  through  the  loop  of  his  arm  from  behind. 
Feeling  himself  defenceless,  he  sprang  at  the  highlander, 
but  he  eluded  him,  and  in  a  moment  was  out  of  his 
reach,  lost  in  the  darkness.  He  heard  the  lock  of  one 
barrel  snap  :  it  was  not  loaded.  The  second  barrel 
went  off,  and  he  gave  a  great  jump,  imagining  himself 
struck.  The  next  instant  the  gun  was  below  his  arm 
again. 

"  It  will  be  lighter  to  carry  now ! "  said  the  Macruadh ; 
"  but  if  you  like  I  will  take  it." 

"  Take  it,  then.  But  no !  By  Jove,  I  wish  there 
was  light  enough  to  see  what  sort  of  a  rascal  you 
look!" 

"  You  are  not  very  polite  ! " 

"  Mind  your  own  politeness.  I  was  never  so  roughly 
served  in  my  life  !  —  by  a  fellow  too  that  had  taken  my 
money !  If  I  knew  where  to  find  a  magistrate  in  this 
beastly  place,  —  " 

"  You  would  tell  him  that  I  emptied  your  gun  be- 
cause you  threatened  me  with  it  ?  " 

"  You  were  going  off  with  my  bag !  " 

"  Because  I  undertook  to  carry  your  bag,  was  I  bound 
to  endure  your  company  ?  " 

"  Alister !  "  said  a  quiet  voice  out  of  the  darkness. 

The  highlander  srarted,  and  in  a  tone  strangely 
tremulous,  yet  with  a  kind  of  triumph  in  it,  answered, 
"Ian." 

The  one  word  said,  he  stood  still,  but  as  in  the  act 


58  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

to  run,  staring  into  the  darkness.     The  next  moment 
he  filing  down  the  o;ame-ba£,  and  two  men  were  in  each 

o  o  o? 

other's  arms. 

"Where  are  you  from,  Ian?"  said  the  chief  at 
length,  in  a  voice  broken  with  gladness. 

All  Valentine  understood  of  the  question,  for  it  was 
in  Gaelic,  was  its  emotion,  and  he  scorned  a  fellow  to 
show  the  least  sign  of  breaking  down. 

"  Straight  from  Moscow,"  answered  the  new-comer. 
"  How  is  our  mother  ?  " 

"Well,  Ian,  thank  God!" 

"  Then,  thank  God,  all  is  well !  " 

"What  brought  you  home  in  such  haste?" 

"  I  had  a  bad  dream  about  my  mother,  and  was  a 
little  anxious.  There  was  more  reason  too,  which  I 
will  tell  you  afterwards." 

"  What  were  you  doing  in  Moscow  ?  Have  you  got  a 
furlough?" 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  I  am  a  sort  of  deserter.  I  would 
have  thrown  up  my  commission,  but  had  not  a  chance. 
In  Moscow  I  was  teaching  in  a  school  to  keep  out  of 
the  way  of  the  police.  But  I  will  tell  you  all  by  and 
by." 

The  voice  was  low,  veiled,  and  sad ;  the  joy  of  the 
meeting  rippled  through  it  like  a  brook. 

The  brothers  had  forgotten  the  stranger,  and  stood 
talking  till  the  patience  of  Valentine  was  as  much, 
exhausted  as  his  strength. 

o 

"  Are  you  going  to  stand  there  all  night  ? "  he  said 
at  last.  "  This  is  no  doubt  very  interesting  to  you, 
but  it  is  rather  a  bore  to  one  who  can  neither  see  you, 
nor  understand  a  word  you  say." 

"  Is  the  gentleman  a  friend  yours,  Alister  ?  "  asked 
Ian. 


WOKK    AND    WAGE.  59 

"  Not  exactly.  —  But  he  is  a  Sasunnach,"  he  con- 
cluded in  English,  "  and  we  ought  not  to  be  speaking 
Gaelic." 

"  I  beg  his  pardon,"  said  Ian.  "  Will  you  introduce 
me?" 

"  It  is  impossible  ;  I  do  not  know  his  name.  I  never 
saw  him,  and  don't  see  him  now.  But  he  insists  on  my 
company." 

"  That  is  a  great  compliment.     How  far  ?  " 

"  To  the  New  House." 

"  I  paid  him  a  shilling  to  carry  my  bag,"  said  Valen- 
tine. "  He  took  the  shilling,  and  was  going  to  walk  off 
with  my  bag !  " 

"Well?" 

"Well  indeed!  Not  at  all  well!  How  was  I  to 
know  —  " 

"  But  he  didn't  —  did  he  ?  "  said  Ian,  whose  voice 
seemed  now  to  tingle  with  amusement.  "  —  Alister, 
you  were  wrong." 

It  was  an  illogical  face-about,  but  Alister  responded 
at  once. 

"I  know  it,"  he  said.  "The  moment  I  heard  your 
voice,  I  knew  it.  —  How  is  it,  Ian,"  —  here  he  fell  back 
into  Gaelic  —  "  that  when  you  are  by  me,  I  know  what 
is  right  so  much  quicker?  I  don't  understand  it.  I 
meant  to  do  right,  but  —  " 

"  But  your  pride  got  up.  Alister,  you  always  set 
out  well  —  nobly  —  and  then  comes  the  devil's  turn  ! 
Then  you  begin  to  do  as  if  you  repented !  You  don't 
carry  the  thing  right  straight  out.  I  hate  to  see  the 
devil  make  a  fool  of  a  man  like  you  !  Do  you  not  know 
that  in  your  own  country  you  owe  a  stranger  hospital- 
ity?" 

"  My  own  country ! "  echoed  Alister  with  a  groan. 


60  WHAT'S  MINE'S 


"  Yes,  your  own  country  —  and  perhaps  more  yours 
than  it  was  your  grandfather's  !  You  know  who  said, 
'The  meek  shall  inherit  the  earth'!  If  it  be  not  ours 
in  God's  way,  I  for  one  would  not  care  to  call  it  mine 
another  way.  But  we  must  not  keep  the  gentleman 
standing  while  we  talk  !  " 

"Thank  you!"  said  Valentine.  "The  fact  is,  I'm 
dead  beat." 

"  Have  you  anything  I  could  carry  for  you  ?  "  asked 
Ian. 

"  No,  I  thank  you.  —  Yes  ;  there  !  if  you  don't  mind 
taking  my  gun?  —  you  speak  like  a  gentleman!  " 

"  I  will  take  it  with  pleasure,"  said  Ian. 

He  took  the  gun,  and  they  started. 

"If  you  choose,  Alister,"  said  his  brother,  again  in 
Gaelic,  "  to  break  through  conventionalities,  you  must 
not  expect  people  to  allow  you  to  creep  inside  them 
again  the  moment  you  please." 

But  the  young  fellow's  fatigue  had  touched  Alister. 

"  Are  you  a  big  man  ?  "  he  said,  taking  Valentine 
gently  by  the  arm. 

"Not  so  big  as  you,  I'll  lay  you  a  sovereign,"  an- 
swered Valentine,  wondering  why  he  should  ask. 

"  Then  look  here  !  "  said  Alister  ;  "  you  get  astride 
my  shoulders,  and  I'll  carry  you  home.  I  believe 
you're  hungry,  and  that  takes  the  pith  out  of  you  !  — 
Come,"  he  went  on,  perceiving  some  sign  of  reluctance 
in  the  youth,  "you'll  break  down  if  you  walk  much 
farther  !  —  Here,  Ian  !  you  take  the  bag  ;  you  can  man- 
age that  and  the  gun  too  !  " 

Valentine  murmured  some  objection  ;  but  the  broth- 
ers took  the  thing  so  much  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
he  felt  so  terribly  exhausted  —  for  he  had  lost  his  way, 
and  been  out  since  the  morning  —  that  he  yielded. 


WOKK   AND    WAGE.  61 

Alister  doubled  himself  up  on  his  heels ;  Valentine 
got  his  weary  legs  over  his  stalwart  shoulders ;  the 
chief  rose  with  him  as  if  he  had  been  no  heavier  than 
mistress  Conal's  creel,  and  bore  him  along  much  re- 
lieved in  his  aching  limbs. 

So  little  was  the  chief  oppressed  by  his  burden,  that 
he  and  his  brother  kept  up  a  stream  of  conversation, 
every  now  and  then  forgetting  their  manners  and  glid- 
ing off  into  Gaelic,  but  as  often  recollecting  themselves, 
apologizing,  and  starting  afresh  upon  the  path  of  Eng- 
lish. Long  before  they  reached  the  end  of  their  jour- 
ney, Valentine,  able  from  his  perch  to  listen  in  some 
measure  of  ease,  came  to  understand  that  he  had  to  do, 
not  with  rustics,  but,  whatever  their  peculiarities,  with 
gentlemen  of  a  noteworthy  sort. 

The  brothers,  in  the  joy  of  their  reunion,  talked 
much  of  things  at  home  and  abroad,  avoiding  things 
personal  and  domestic  as  often  as  they  spoke  English ; 
but  when  they  saw  the  lights  of  the  New  House,  a 
silence  fell  upon  them.  At  the  door,  Alister  set  his 
burden  carefully  down. 

"  There !  "  he  said  with  a  laugh,  "  I  hope  I  have 
earned  my  shilling !  " 

"Ten  times  over,"  said  Valentine;  "but  I  know 
better  now  than  offer  to  pay  you.  I  thank  you  with 
all  my  heart." 

The  door  opened,  Ian  gave  the  gun  and  the  bag  to 
the  butler,  and  the  brothers  bade  Valentine  good-night. 

Valentine  had  a  strange  tale  to  tell.  Sercombe  re- 
fused to  accept  his  conclusions :  if  he  had  offered  the 
men  half  a  crown  apiece,  he  said,  they  would  have 
pocketed  the  money. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MOTHER   AND    SON. 

sun  was  shining  bright,  and  the  laird  was  out 
in  his  fields.  His  oats  were  nearly  ready  for  the 
scythe,  and  he  was  judging  where  he  had  best  begin  to 
cut  them. 

His  fields  lay  chiefly  along  the  banks  of  the  stream, 
occupying  the  whole  breadth  of  the  valley  on  the  east 
side  of  the  ridge  where  the  cottage  stood.  On  the 
west  side  of  the  ridge,  nearly  parallel  to,  and  not  many 
yards  from  it,  a  small  brook  ran  to  join  the  stream  :  this 
was  a  march  betwixt  the  chiefs  land  and  Mr.  Pere- 
grine Palmer's.  Their  respective  limits  were  not 
everywhere  so  well  defined. 

The  air  was  clear  and  clean,  and  full  of  life.  The 
wind  was  asleep.  A  consciousness  of  work  approach- 
ing completion  filled  earth  and  air  —  a  mood  of  calm 
expectation,  as  of  a  man  who  sees  his  end  drawing  nigh, 
and  awaits  the  saving  judgment  of  the  father  of  spirits. 
There  was  no  song  of  birds  —  only  a  crow  from  the 
yard,  or  the  cry  of  a  blackcock  from  the  hill ;  the  two 
streams  were  left  to  do  all  the  singing,  and  they  did 
their  best,  though  their  water  was  low.  The  day  was 
of  the  evening  of  the  year ;  in  the  full  sunshine  was 
present  the  twilight  and  the  coming  night,  but  there 
was  a  sense  of  readiness  on  all  sides.  The  fruits  of 
the  earth  must  be  housed;  that  alone  remained  to 
be  done. 

62 


MOTHER   AND    SOX.  63 

When  the  laird  had  made  up  his  mind,  he  turned 
towards  the  house — a  lowly  cottage,  more  extensive 
than  many  farm-houses,  but  looking  no  better.  It  was 
well  built,  with  an  outside  wall  of  rough  stone  and 
lime,  and  another  wall  of  turf  within,  lined  in  parts 
with  wood,  making  it  as  warm  a  nest  as  any  house  of 
the  size  could  be.  The  door,  picturesque  with  abun- 
dant repair,  opened  by  a  latch  into  the  kitchen. 

For  long  years  the  floor  of  the  kitchen  had  been  an 
earthen  one,  with  the  fire  on  a  hearth  in  the  middle  of 
it,  as  in  all  the  cottages ;  and  the  smoke  rose  into  the 
roof,  keeping  it  very  dry  and  warm,  if  also  very  sooty, 
and  thence  into  the  air  through  a  hole  in  the  middle. 
But  some  ten  years  before  this  time,  Alister  and  Ian, 
mere  lads,  had  built  a  chimney  outside,  and  opening 
the  wall,  removed  the  hearth  to  it  —  with  the  smoke 
also,  which  now  had  its  own  private  way  to  liberty. 
They  then  paved  the  floor  with  such  stones  as  they 
could  find,  in  the  fields  and  on  the  hill,  sufficiently  flat 
and  smooth  on  one  side,  and  by  sinking  them  accord- 
ing to  their  thickness,  managed  to  get  a  tolerably  even 
surface.  Many  other  improvements  followed ;  and 
although  it  was  a  poor  place  still,  it  would  at  the  time 
of  Dr.  Johnson's  visit  to  the  highlands  have  been 
counted  a  good  house,  not  to  be  despised  by  unambi- 
tious knight  or  poor  baronet.  Nor  was  the  time  yet 
over  when  ladies  and  gentlemen,  of  all  courtesy  and 
good  breeding,  might  be  found  in  such  houses. 

In  the  kitchen  a  deal-dresser,  scoured  white,  stood 
under  one  of  the  tiny  windows,  giving  light  enough 
for  a  clean-souled  cook  —  and  what  windov/-light  would 
ever  be  enough  for  one  of  a  different  sort  ?  There  were 
only  four  panes  in  it,  but  it  opened  and  closed  with  a 
button,  and  so  was  superior  to  many  windows.  There 


64  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

was  a  larger  on  the  opposite  side,  which  at  times  in 
the  winter  nights  when  the  cold  was  great,  they  filled 
bodily  with  a  barricade  of  turf.  Here,  in  the  kitchen, 
the  chief  takes  his  meals  with  his  lady-mother.  She 
and  Ian  have  finished  their  breakfast,  and  gone  to  the 
other  end  of  the  house ;  the  laird  broke  his  fast  long 
ago. 

A  fire  is  burning  on  the  hearth  —  small,  for  the  mid- 
day-meal is  not  yet  on  its  way.  Everything  is  tidy ; 
the  hearth  is  swept  up,  and  the  dishes  are  washed :  the 
bare-footed  girl  is  reaching  the  last  of  them  to  its  place 
on  the  rack  behind  the  dresser.  She  is  a  red-haired, 
blue-eyed  Celt,  with  a  pretty  face,  and  a  refinement  of 
motion  and  speech  rarer  in  some  other  peasantries. 

The  chief  enters,  and  takes  down  an  old-fashioned 
gun  from  the  wall.  He  wants  a  bird  or  two,  for  lan's 
home-coming  is  a  great  event. 

"  I  saw  a  big  stag  last  night  down  by  the  burn,  sir," 
said  the  girl,  "  feeding  as  if  he  had  been  the  red  cow." 

"  I  don't  want  him  to-day,  Nancy,"  returned  her 
master.  "  Had  he  big  horns  ?  " 

"  Great  horns,  sir ;  but  it  was  too  dark  to  count  the 
tines." 

"  When  was  it  ?    Why  did  you  not  tell  me  ?  " 

"  I  thought  it  was  morning,  sir,  and  when  I  got  up  it 
was  the  middle  of  the  night.  The  moon  was  so  shiny 
that  I  went  to  the  door  and  looked  out.  Just  at  the 
narrow  leap,  I  saw  him  plain." 

"  If  you  should  see  him  again,  Nancy,  scare  him.  I 
don't  want  the  Sasunnachs  at  the  New  House  to  see 
him." 

"  Hadn't  you  better  take  him  yourself,  Macruadh  ? 
He  would  make  fine  hams  for  the  winter !  " 

"Mind  your  own  business,  Nancy,  and  hold  your 


MOTHER   AND    SON.  65 

tongue,"  said  the  chief,  with  a  smile  that  took  all  the 
harshness  from  the  words.  "  Don't  you  tell  anyone 
you  saw  him.  For  what  you  know  he  may  be  the  big 
stag!" 

"Sure  no  one  would  kill  him,  sir!"  said  the  girl 
aghast. 

"  I  hope  not.  But  get  the  stoving-pot  ready,  Nancy ; 
I'm  going  to  find  a  bird  or  two.  Lest  I  should  not 
succeed,  have  a  couple  of  chickens  at  hand." 

"  Sir,  the  mistress  has  commanded  them  already." 

"  That  is  well ;  but  do  not  kill  them  except  I  am  not 
back  in  time." 

"I  understand,  sir." 

Macruadh  knew  the  stag  as  well  as  the  horse  he  rode, 
and  that  his  habit  had  for  some  time  been  to  come 
down  at  night  and  feed  on  the  small  border  of  rich 
grass  on  the  south  side  of  the  burn,  between  it  and  the 
abrupt  heathery  rise  of  the  hill.  For  there  the  burn 
ran  so  near  the  hill,  and  the  ground  was  so  covered 
with  huge  masses  of  gray  rock,  that  there  was  hardly 
room  for  cultivation,  and  the  bank  was  left  in  grass. 

The  stalking  of  the  stag  was  the  passion  of  the  high- 
lander  in  that  part  of  the  country.  He  cared  little  for 
shooting  the  grouse,  black  or  red,  and  almost  despised 
those  whose  ambition  was  a  full  bag  of  such  game ;  but 
he  dreamed  day  and  night  of  killing  deer.  The  chief, 
however,  was  in  this  matter  more  of  a  man  without 
being  less  of  a  highlander.  He  loved  the  deer  so  much, 
saw  them  so  much  a  part  of  the  glory  of  mountain  and 
sky,  sunshine  and  storm,  that  he  liked  to  see  them  liv- 
ing, not  dead,  and  only  now  and  then  shot  one,  when 
the  family  had  need  of  it.  He  felt  himself  indeed  almost 
the  father  of  the  deer  as  well  as  of  his  clan,  and  mourned 
greatly  that  he  could  do  so  little  now,  from  the  limited 


66  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

range  of  his  property,  to  protect  them.  His  love  for 
live  creatures  was  not  quite  equal  to  that  of  St.  Francis, 
for  he  could  not  have  conceived  the  thought  of  turning 
wolf  or  fox  from  the  error  of  his  ways ;  but  even  the 
creatures  that  preyed  upon  others  he  killed  only  from 
a  sense  of  duty,  and  with  no  pleasure  in  their  death. 
The  heartlessness  of  the  common  type  of  sportsman 
was  loathsome  to  him.  When  there  was  not  much 
doing  on  the  farm,  he  would  sometimes  be  out  all  night 
with  his  gun,  it  is  true,  but  he  would  seldom  fire  it,  and 
then  only  at  some  beast  of  prey  ;  on  the  hill-side  or  in 
the  valley  he  would  be  watching  the  ways  and  doings 
of  the  many  creatures  that  roam  the  night  —  each  with 
its  object,  each  with  its  reasons,  each  with  its  fitting  of 
means  to  ends.  One  of  the  grounds  of  his  dislike  to 
the  new  possessors  of  the  old  land  was  the  raid  he 
feared  upon  the  wild  animals. 

The  laird  gone,  I  will  take  my  reader  into  the  par- 
lor, as  they  called  in  English  their  one  sitting-room. 
Shall  I  first  tell  him  what  the  room  was  like,  or  first 
describe  the  two  persons  in  it  ?  Led  up  to  a  picture,  I 
certainly  should  not  look  first  at  the  frame ;  but  a 
description  is  a  process  of  painting  rather  than  a  pict- 
ure ;  and  when  you  cannot  see  the  thing  in  one,  but 
must  take  each  part  by  itself  and  in  your  mind  get  it 
into  relation  with  the  rest,  there  is  an  advantage,  I 
think,  in  having  a  notion  of  the  frame  first.  For  one 
thing,  you  cannot  see  the  persons  without  imagining 
their  surroundings,  and  if  those  should  be  unfittingly 
imagined,  they  interfere  with  the  truth  of  the  persons, 
and  you  may  not  be  able  te  get  them  right  after. 

The  room,  then,  was  about  fifteen  feet  by  twelve,  and 
the  ceiling  was  low.  On  the  white  walls  hung  a  few 
frames,  of  which  two  or  three  contained  water-colors  — 


MOTHER    AND    SON.  67 

not  very  good,  but  not  displeasing ;  several  held  minia- 
ture portraits  —  mostly  in  red  coats,  and  one  or  two  a 
silhouette.  Opposite  the  door  hung  a  target  of  hide, 
round,  and  bossed  with  brass.  Alister  had  come  upon 
it  in  the  house  covering  a  meal-barrel,  to  which  service 
it  had  probably  been  put  in  aid  of  its  eluding  a  search 
for  arms  after  the  battle  of  Culloden.  Never  more  to 
cover  man's  food  from  mice,  or  his  person  from  an 
enemy,  it  was  raised  to  the  walhalla  of  the  parlor. 
Under  it  rested,  horizontally  upon  two  nails,  the  sword 
of  the  chief  —  a  long  and  broad  Andrew  Ferrara^  with 
a  plated  basket-hilt ;  beside  it  hung  a  dirk  —  longer 
than  usual,  and  fine  in  form,  with  a  carved  hilt  in  the 
shape  of  an  eagle's  head  and  neck,  and  its  sheath, 
whose  leather  was  old  and  flaky  with  age,  heavily 
mounted  in  silver.  Below  these  was  a  card-table  of 
marquetry  with  spindle-legs,  and  on  it  a  work-box  of 
ivory,  inlaid  with  silver  and  ebony.  In  the  corner 
stood  a  harp,  an  Erard,  golden  and  gracious,  not  a 
string  of  it  broken.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  was  a 
small  square  table,  covered  with  a  green  cloth.  An 
old-fashioned  easy  chair  stood  by  the  chimney;  and 
one  sat  in  it  whom  to  see  was  to  forget  her  surround- 
ings. 

In  middle  age  she  is  still  beautiful,  with  the  rare 
beauty  that  shines  from  the  root  of  the  being.'  Her 
hair  is  of  the  darkest  brown,  almost  black ;  her  eyes 
are  very  dark,  and  her  skin  is  very  fair,  though  the  soft 
bloom,  as  of  reflected  sunset,  is  gone  from  her  cheek, 
and  her  hair  shows  lines  of  keen  silver.  Her  features 
are  fine,  clear,  and  regular  —  the  chin  a  little  strong 
perhaps,  not  for  the  size,  but  the  fineness  of  the  rest ; 
her  form  is  that  of  a  younger  woman :  her  hand  and 
foot  are  long  and  delicate.  A  more  refined  and  courte- 


68  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

ons  presence  could  not  have  been  found  in  the  island. 
The  dignity  of  her  carriage  nowise  marred  its  grace, 
or  betrayed  the  least  consciousness  ;  she  looked  digni- 
fied because  she  was  dignified.  The  form  of  falsehood 
which  consists  in  assuming  the  look  of  what  one  fain 
would  be,  was,  as  much  as  any  other,  impossible  to 
Isobel  Macruadh.  She  wore  no  cap ;  her  hair  was 
gathered  in  a  large  knot  near  the  top  of  her  head. 
Her  gown  was  of  a  dark  print ;  she  had  no  ornament 
except  a  ring  with  a  single  ruby.  She  was  working  a 
bit  of  net  into  lace. 

She  could  speak  Gaelic  as  well  as  any  in  the  glen  — 
perhaps  better  ;  but  to  her  sons  she  always  spoke  Eng- 
lish. To  them  indeed  English  was  their  mother-tongue, 
in  the  sense  that  English  only  came  addressed  to  them- 
selves from  her  lips.  There  were,  she  said,  plenty  to 
teach  them  Gaelic ;  she  must  see  to  their  English. 

The  one  window  of  the  parlor,  though  riot  large, 
was  of  tolerable  size,  but  little  light  entered,  so  shaded 
was  it  with  a  rose-tree  in  a  pot  on  the  sill.  By  the 
wall  opposite  was  a  couch,  and  on  the  couch  lay  Ian 
with  a  book  in  his  hand  —  a  book  in  a  strange  language. 
His  mother  and  he  would  sometimes  be  a  whole  morn- 
ing together  and  exchange  no  more  than  a  word  or  two, 
though  many  a  look  and  smile.  It  seemed  enough  for 
each  to  be  in  the  other's  company.  There  was  a  quite 
peculiar  bond  between  the  two.  Like  so  many  of  the 
young  men  of  that  country,  Ian  had  been  intended  for 
the  army ;  but  there  was  in  him  this  much  of  the  spirit 
of  the  eagle  he  resembled,  that  he  passionately  loved 
freedom,  and  had  almost  a  gypsy's  delight  in  wander- 
ing. When  he  left  college  he  became  tutor  in  a  Rus- 
sian family  of  distinction,  and  after  that  accepted  a 
commission,  and  served  the  Czar  for  three  or  four  years. 


MOTHER   AND    SON.  69 

But  wherever  he  went,  he  seemed,  as  he  said  once  to 
his  mother,  almost  physically  aware  of  a  line  stretching 
between  him  and  her,  which  seemed  to  vibrate  when 
he  grew  anxious  about  her.  The  bond  between  him 
and  his  brother  was  equally  strong,  but  in  feeling 
different.  Between  Alister  and  him  it  was  a  -cable ; 
between  his  mother  and  him  a  harpstring ;  in  the  one 
case  it  was  a  muscle,  in  the  other  a  nerve.  The  one 
retained,  the  other  drew  him.  Given  to  roaming  as  he 
was,  again  and  again  he  returned,  from  pure  love-long- 
ing, to  what  he  always  felt  as  the  protection  of  his 
mother.  It  was  protection  indeed  that  he  often  sought 
—  protection  from  his  own  glooms,  which  nothing  but 
her  love  seemed  able  to  tenuate. 

He  was  tall  —  if  an  inch  above  six  feet  be  tall,  but 
not  of  his  brother's  fine  proportion.  He  was  thin, 
with  long  slender  fingers  and  feet  like  his  mother's. 
His  small,  strong  bones  were  covered  with  little  more 
than  hard  muscle,  but  every  motion  of  limb  or  body 
was  grace.  At  times,  when  lost  in  thought  and  uncon- 
scious of  movement,  an  observer  might  have  imagined 
him  in  conversation  with  some  one  unseen,  towards 
whom  he  was  carrying  himself  with  courtesy  :  plain  it 
was  that  courtesy  with  him  was  not  a  graft  upon  the 
finest  stock,  but  an  essential  element.  His  forehead 
was  rather  low,  freckled,  and  crowned  with  hair  of  a 
foxy  red ;  his  eyes  were  of  the  glass-gray  or  green 
loved  by  our  elder  poets  ;  his  nose  was  a  very  eagle  in 
itself  —  large  and  fine.  He  more  resembled  the  mask 
of  the  dead  Shakspere  than  any  other  I  have  met,  only 
in  him  the  proportions  were  a  little  exaggerated ;  his 
nose  was  a  little  too  large,  and  his  mouth  a  little  too 
small  for  the  mask  ;  but  the  mingled  sweetness  and 
strength  in  the  curves  of  the  latter  prevented  the  im- 


70  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

pression  of  weakness  generally  given  by  the  association 
of  such  a  nose  and  such  a  mouth.  On  his  short  upper 
lip  was  a  small  light  moustache,  and  on  his  face  not  a 
hair  more.  In  rest  his  countenance  wore  a  great  calm- 
ness, but  a  calmness  that  might  seem  rooted  in  sadness. 
While  the  mother  might,  more  than  once  in  a  day, 
differ  to  fault-finding  from  her  elder-born  —  whom  she 
admired,  notwithstanding,  as  well  as  loved,  from  the 
bottom  of  her  heart  —  she  was  never  known  to  say  a 
word  in  opposition  to  the  younger.  It  was  even  whis- 
pered that  she  was  afraid  of  him.  It  was  not  so  ;  but 
her  reverence  for  Ian  was  such  that,  even  when  she 
felt  bound  not  to  agree  with  him,  she  seldom  had  the 
confidence  that,  differing  from  him,  she  was  in  the 
right.  Sometimes  in  the  middle  of  the  night  she  would 
slip  like  a  ghost  into  the  room  where  he  lay,  and  sit  by 
his  bed  till  the  black  cock,  the  gray  cock,  the  red  cock 
crew.  The  son  might  be  awake  all  the  time,  and  the 
mother  suspect  him  awake,  yet  no  word  passed  between 
them.  She  would  rise  and  go  as  she  came.  Her  feel- 
ing for  her  younger  son  was  like  that  of  Hannah  for 
her  eldest  —  intensest  love  mixed  with  strangest  rever- 
ence. But  there  were  vast  alternations  and  inexplica- 
ble minglings  in  her  thoughts  of  him.  At  one  moment 
she  would  regard  him  as  gifted  beyond  his  fellows  for 
some  great  work,  at  another  be  filled  with  a  horrible 
fear  that  he  was  in  rebellion  against  the  God  of  his 
life.  Doubtless  mothers  are  far  too  ready  to  think 
their  sons  above  the  ordinary  breed  of  sons :  self,  un- 
possessed of  God,  will  worship  itself  in  its  offspring ; 
yet  the  sons  whom  holy  mothers  have  regarded  as  born 
to  great  things  and  who  have  passed  away  without 
sign,  may  have  gone  on  towards  their  great  things. 
Whether  this  mother  thought  too  much  of  her  son  or 


MOTHER   AND    SON.  71 

not,  there  were  questions  moving  in  his  mind  which 
she  could  not  have  understood  —  even  then  when  he 
would  creep  to  her  bed  in  the  morning  to  forget  in  her 
arms  the  terrible  dreams  of  the  night,  or  when  at  even- 
ing he  would  draw  his  little  stool  to  her  knee,  unable 
or  unwilling  to  enjoy  his  book  anywhere  but  by  her 
side. 

What  gave  him  his  unconscious  power  over  his 
mother,  was,  first,  the  things  he  said,  and  next,  the 
things  he  did  not  say ;  for  he  seemed  to  her  to  dwell 
always  in  a  rich  silence.  Yet  throughout  was  she  aware 
of  a  something  between  them,  across  which  they  could 
not  meet ;  it  was  in  part  her  distress  at  the  seeming 
impossibility  of  effecting  a  spiritual  union  with  her 
son,  that  made  her  so  desirous  of  personal  proximity 
to  him ;  such  union  is  by  most  thinking  people  pre- 
sumed impossible  without  consent  of  opinion,  and  this 
mistake  rendered  her  unable  to  feel  near  him,  to  be  at 
home  with  him ;  if  she  had  believed  that  they  under- 
stood each  other,  that  they  were  of  like  opinion,  she 
would  not  have  been  half  so  unhappy  when  he  went 
away,  would  not  have  longed  half  so  grievously  for  his 
return.  Ian  on  his  part  understood  his  mother,  but 
knew  she  did  not  understand  him,  and  was  therefore 
troubled.  Hence  it  resulted  that  always  after  a  time 
came  the  hour  —  which  never  came  to  her  —  when  he 
could  endure  proximity  without  oneness  no  longer,  and 
would  suddenly  announce  his  departure.  And  after  a 
day  or  two  of  his  absence,  the  mother  would  be  doubly 
wretched  to  find  a  sort  of  relief  in  it,  and  would  spend 
wakeful  nights  trying  to  oust  it  as  the  merest  fancy, 
persuading  herself  that  she  was  miserable,  and  nothing 
but  miserable,  in  the  loss  of  her  darling. 

Naturally  then  she  would  turn  more  to  Alister,  and 


72  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

his  love  was  a  strengthening  tonic  to  her  sick  mother- 
hood. He  was  never  jealous  of  either.  Their  love 
for  each  other  was  to  him  a  love.  He  too  would  mourn 
deeply  over  his  brother's  departure,  but  it  became  at 
once  his  business  to  comfort  his  mother.  And  while 
she  had  no  suspicion  of  the  degree  to  which  he  suf- 
fered, it  drew  her  with  fresh  love  to  her  elder  born,  and 
gave  her  a  renewal  of  the  quiet  satisfaction  in  him  that 
was  never  absent,  when  she  saw  how  he  too  missed  Ian. 
Their  mutual  affection  was  indeed  as  true  and  strong 
as  a  mother  could  desire  it.  "  If  such  love,"  she  said 
to  herself,  "  had  appeared  in  the  middle  of  its  history 
instead  of  now  at  its  close,  the  transmitted  affection 
would  have  been  enough  to  bind  the  clan  together  for 
centuries  more ! " 

It  was  with  a  prelusive  smile  that  shone  on  the 
mother's  heart  like  the  opening  of  heaven,  that  Ian 
lowered  his  book  to  answer  her  question.  She  had 
said  — 

"  Did  you  not  feel  the  cold  very  much  at  St.  Peters- 
burg last  winter,  Ian  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother,  at  times,"  he  answered.  "  But  every- 
body wears  fur ;  the  peasant  his  sheep-skin,  the  noble 
his  silver  fox.  They  have  to  fight  the  cold !  Nose  and 
toes  are  in  constant  danger.  Did  I  never  tell  you  what 
happened  to  me  once  in  that  way  ?  I  don't  think  I  ever 
did ! " 

"  You  never  tell  me  anything,  Ian ! "  said  his  mother, 
looking  at  him  with  a  loving  sadness. 

"  I  was  suddenly  stopped  in  the  street  by  what  I  took 
for  an  unheard-of  insult :  I  actually  thought  my  great 
proboscis  was  being  pulled !  If  I  had  been  as  fiery  as 
Alister,  the  man  would  have  found  his  back,  and  I 
should  have  lost  my  nose.  Without  the  least  warning 


MOTHER    AND    SON.  73 

a  handful  of  snow  was  thrust  in  my  face,  and  my  nose 
had  not  even  a  chance  of  snorting  with  indignation,  it 
found  itself  so  twisted  in  every  direction  at  once  !  But 
I  have  a  way,  in  any  sudden  occurrence,  of  feeling 
perplexed  enough  to  want  to  be  sure  before  doing  any- 
thing, and  if  it  has  sometimes  kept  me  from  what  was 
expedient,  it  has  oftener  saved  me  from  what  was 
wrono-:  it  took  but  another  instant  to  understand  that 

o 

it  was  the  promptitude  of  a  fellow  Christian  to  pre- 
serve to  me  my  nose,  already  whitening  in  frosty  death  : 
he  was  rubbing  it  hard  with  snow,  the  orthodox  remedy  ! 
My  whole  face  presently  sharpened  into  one  burning 
spot,  and  taking  off  my  hat,  I  thanked  the  man  for  his 
most  kind  attention.  He  pointed  out  that  any  time 
spent  in  explaining  to  me  the  condition  of  my  nose, 
would  have  been  pure  loss :  as  the  danger  was  pressing, 
he  attacked  it  at  once !  I  was  indeed  entirely  uncon- 
scious of  the  state  of  my  beak  —  the  worst  symptom 
of  any!" 

"  I  trust,  Ian,  you  will  not  go  back  to  Russia  !  "  said 
his  mother,  after  a  little  more  talk  about  frost-biting. 
"  Surely  there  is  work  for  you  at  home  ! " 

"What  can  I  do  at  home, Another ?  You  have  no 
money  to  buy  me  a  commission,  and  I  am  not  much 
good  at  farm-work.  Alister  says  I  arn  not  worth  a 
horseman's  wages ! " 

"  You  could  find  teaching  at  home ;  or  you  could  go 
into  the  church.  We  might  manage  that,  for  you 
would  only  have  to  attend  the  divinity  classes." 

"  Mother !  would  you  put  me  into  one  of  the  priests' 
offices  that  I  may  eat  a  piece  of  bread  ?  As  for  teach- 
ing, there  are  too  many  hungry  students  ready  for  that : 
I  could  not  take  the  bread  out  of  their  mouths !  And 
in  truth,  mother,  I  could  not  endure  it  —  except  it  were 


74  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

required  of  me.  I  can  live  on  as  little  as  any,  but  it 
must  be  with  some  liberty.  I  have  surely  inherited  the 
spirit  of  some  old  sea-rover,  it  is  so  difficult  for  me  to 
rest !  I  am  a  very  thistle-down  for  wandering!  I  must 
know  how  my  fellow-beings  live  !  I  should  like  to  be 
one  man  after  another — each  for  an  hour  or  two  !  " 

"Your  father  used  to  say  there  was  much  Norse 
blood  in  the  family." 

"  There  it  is,  mother !    I  cannot  help  it !  " 

"I  don't  like  your  holding  the  Czar's  commission, 
Ian  —  somehow  I  don't  like  it.  He  is  a  tyrant." 

"I  am  going  to  throw  it  up,  mother." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that !    How  did  you  ever  get  it  ?  " 

"Oddly  enough,  through  the  man  that  pulled  my 
nose.  I  had  a  chance  afterwards  of  doing  him  a  good 
turn,  which  he  was  most  generous  in  acknowledging ; 
and  as  he  belonged  to  the  court,  I  had  the  offer  of  a 
lieutenant's  commission.  The  Scotch  are  in  favor." 

A  deep  cloud  had  settled  on  the  face  of  the  young 
man.  The  lady  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with 
keenest  mother-eyes,  suppressed  a  deep  sigh,  and  be- 
took herself  again  to  her  work.  Ere  she  thought  how 
he  might  take  it,  another  question  broke  from  her  lips. 

"What  sort  of  church  have  you  to  go  to  in  St. 
Petersburg,- Ian?"  she  said. 

Ian  was  silent  a  moment,  thinking  how  to  be  true, 
and  not  hurt  her  more  than  could  not  be  helped. 

"There  are  a  thousand  places  of  worship  there, 
mother,"  he  returned,  with  a  curious  smile. 

"  Any  presbyterian  place  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  believe  so,"  he  replied. 

"  Ian,  you  haven't  given  up  praying  ?  " 

"  If  ever  I  prayed,  mother,  I  certainly  have  not 
given  it  up." 


MOTHER    AND    SON.  75 

"  Ever  prayed,  Ian !  When  a  mere  child  you  prayed 
like  an  aged  Christian ! " 

"  Ah,  mother,  that  was  a  sad  pity  !  I  asked  for  things 
of  which  I  felt  no  need  !  I  was  a  hypocrite  !  I  ought 
to  have  prayed  like  a  little  child ! " 

The  mother  was  silent :  she  it  was  who  had  taught 
him  to  pray  thus  —  making  him  pray  aloud  in  her  hear- 
ing! and  this  was  the  result !  The  premature  blossom 
had  withered!  she  said  to  herself.  But  it  was  no 
blossom,  only  a  muslin  flower  ! 

"  Then  you  don't  go  to  church ! "  she  said  at 
length. 

"  Not  often,  mother  dear,"  he  answered.  "  When  I 
do  go,  I  like  to  go  to  the  church  of  the  country  I  hap- 
pen to  be  in.  Going  to  church  and  praying  to  God  are 
not  the  same  thing." 

"  Then  you  do  say  your  prayers  ?  Oh,  do  not  tell 
me  you  never  bow  down  before  your  maker ! " 

'•  Shall  I  tell  you  wfhere  I  think  I  did  once  pray  to 
God,  mother?"  he  said,  after  a  little  pause,  anxious 'to 
soothe  her  suffering.  "  At  least  I  did  think,  then,  that 
I  prayed !  "  he  added. 

"  It  was  not  this  morning,  then,  before  you  left  your 
chamber?" 

"  No,  mother,"  answered  Ian ;  "  I  did  not  pray  this 
morning,  and  I  never  say  prayers." 

The  mother  gave  a  gasp,  but  said  nothing.  Ian  went 
on  agjain. 

o 

"I  should  like  to  tell  you,  mother,  about  that  time 
when  I  am  almost  sure  I  prayed !  " 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  about  it,"  she  answered,  with 
strangest  minglings  of  emotion.  At  one  and  the  same 
instant  she  felt  parted  from  her  son  by  a  gulf  into 
which  she  must  cast  herself  to  find  him,  and  that  he 


76  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

stood  on  a  height  of  sacred  experience  which  she 
never  could  hope  to  climb.  "  Oh  for  his  father  to  talk 
to  him  ! "  she  said  to  herself.  He  was  a  power  on  her 
soul  which  she  almost  feared.  If  he  were  to  put  forth 
his  power,  might  he  not  drag  her  down  into  unbelief  ? 

It  was  the  first  time  they  had  come  so  close  in  their 
talk.  The  moment  his  mother  spoke  out,  Ian  had 
responded.  He  was  anxious  to  be  open  with  her  so  far 
as  he  could,  and  forced  his  natural  taciturnity,  the 
prime  cause  of  which  was  his  thoughtfulness :  it  was 
hard  to  talk  where  was  so  much  thinking  to  be  done, 
so  little  time  to  do  it  in,  and  so  little  progress  made  by 
it !  But  wherever  he  could  keep  his  mother  company, 
there  he  would  not  leave  her !  Just  as  he  opened  his 
mouth,  however,  to  begin  his  narration,  the  door  of  the 
room  also  opened,  flung  wide  by  the  small  red  hand  of 
Nancy,  and  two  young  ladies  entered. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A   MOENING    CALL. 

HAD  Valentine  known  who  the  brothers  were,  or 
where  they  lived,  he  would  before  now  have 
called  to  thank  them  again  for  their  kindness  to  him, 
but  he  imagined  they  had  some  distance  to  go  after 
depositing  him,  and  had  not  yet  discovered  his  mistake. 
The  visit  now  paid  had  nothing  to  do  with  him. 

The  two  elder  girls,  curious  about  the  pretty  cottage, 
had  come  wandering  down  the  spur,  or  hill-toe,  as  far 
as  its  precincts  —  if  precincts  they  may  be  called  where 
was  no  fence,  only  a  little  grove  and  a  less  garden. 
Beside  the  door  stood  a  milk-pail  and  a  churn,  set  out 
to  be  sweetened  by  the  sun  and  wind.  It  was  very 
rural,  they  thought,  and  very  homely,  but  not  so  attract- 
ive as  some  cottages  in  the  south :  —  it  indicated  a 
rusticity  honored  by  the  most  unceremonious  visit  from 
its  superiors !  Thus  without  hesitation  concluding,  Chris- 
tina, followed  by  Mercy,  walked  in  at  the  open  door, 
found  a  barefooted  girl  in  the  kitchen,  and  spoke 
pleasantly  to  her.  She,  in  simple  hospitality  forget- 
ting herself,  made  answer  in  Gaelic ;  and,  never  doubt- 
ing the  ladies  had  come  to  call  upon  her  mistress,  led 
the  way,  and  the  girls,  without  thinking,  followed  her 
to  the  parlor. 

As  they  came,  they  had  been  talking.  Had  they 
been  in  any  degree  truly  educated,  they  would  have 
been  quite  capable  of  an  opinion  of  their  own,  for  they 

77 


78  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

had  good  enough  faculties ;  but  they  had  never  been 
really  taught  to  read ;  therefore,  with  the  utmost  con- 
fidence, they  had  been  passing  judgment  upon  a  book 
from  which  they  had  not  gathered  the  slightest  notion 
as  to  the  idea  or  intention  of  the  writer.  Christina 
was  of  that  numerous  class  of  readers,  who,  if  you 
show  one  thing  better  or  worse  than  another,  will  with- 
out hesitation  report  that  you  love  the  one  and  hate  the 
other.  If  you  say,  for  instance,  that  it  is  a  worse  and 
yet  more  shameful  thing  for  a  man  to  break  his  wife's 
heart  by  systematic  neglect,  than  to  strike  her  and  be 
sorry  for  it,  such  readers  give  out  that  you  approve  of 
wife-beating,  and  perhaps  write  to  expostulate  with  you 
on  your  brutality.  If  you  express  pleasure  that  a  poor 
maniac  should  have  succeeded  in  escaping  through  the 
door  of  death  from  his  haunting  demom,  they  accuse 
you  of  advocating  suicide.  Mercy  was  not  yet  afloat 
on  the  sea  of  essential  lie  whereon  Christina  swung  to 
every  wave. 

The  question  they  had  been  discussing  was,  whether 
the  hero  of  the  story  was  worthy  the  name  of  lover, 
seeing  he  deferred  offering  his  hand  to  the  girl  because 
she  told  her  mother  &jib  to  account  for  her  being  with 
him  in  the  garden  after  dark.  "  It  was  cowardly  and 
unfair,"  said  Christina:  "was  it  not  for  his  sake  she 
did  it?"  Mercy  did  not  think  to  say  "  Was  it?  "  as  she 
well  might.  "  Don't  you  see,  Chrissy,"  she  said,  "  he 
reasoned  this  way :  c  If  she  tell  her  mother  a  lie,  she 
may  tell  me  a  lie  some  day  too  ! '  ? "  So  indeed  the 
youth  did  reason  ;  but  it  occurred  to  neither  of  his 
critics  to  note  the  fact  that  he  would  not  have  minded 
the  girl's  telling  her  mother  the  lie,  if  he  could  have 
been  certain  she  would  never  tell  him  one !  In  regard 
to  her  hiding  from  him  certain  passages  with  another 


A   MORNING    CALL.  79 


gentleman,  occurring  between  this  event  and  his  pro- 
posal, Christina  judged  he  had  no  right  to  know  them, 
and  if  he  had,  their  concealment  was  what  he  deserved. 
When  the  girl,  who  would  have  thought  it  rude  to 
ask  their  names  —  if  I  mistake  not  it  was  a  point  in 
highland  hospitality  to  entertain  without  such  inquiry 

—  led  the  way  to  the  parlor,  they  followed,  expecting 
they  did  not  know  what :  they  had  heard  of  the  cow- 
house, the  stable,  and  even  the  pigsty,  being  under  the 
same  roof  in  these  parts !    When  the   opening   door 
disclosed  "lady"  Macruadh,  every  inch  a  chieftain's 
widow,  their  conventional  breeding  failed  them  a  little  ; 
incapable  of  recognizing  a  refinement  beyond  their  own, 
they  were  not  incapable  of  feeling  its  influence  ;  and 
though  they  had  not  yet  learned  how  to  be  rude  with 
propriety  in  unproved  circumstances  —  still  less  how  to 
be  gracious  without  a  moment's  notice.     But  when  a 
young  man  sprung  from  a  couch,  and  the  stately  lady 
rose  and  advanced  to  receive  them,  it  was  too  late  to 
retreat,  and  for  a  moment  they  stood  abashed,  feeling, 
I  am  glad  to  say,  like  intruders.     The  behavior  of  the 
lady  and  gentleman,  however,  speedily  set  them  par- 
tially at  ease.     The  latter,  with  movements  more  than 
graceful,  for  they  were  gracious,  and  altogether  free  of 
scroll-pattern   or  Polonius-flourish,  placed  chairs,  and 
invited  them  to  be  seated,  and  the  former  began  to  talk 
as  if  their  entrance  were  the  least  unexpected  thing  in 
the  world.     Leaving  them  to  explain  their  visit  or  not 
as  they  saw  fit,  she  spoke  of  the  weather,  the  harvest, 
the   shooting;   feared  the  gentlemen  would  be  disap- 
pointed: the  birds  were  quite  healthy,  but  not  numer- 
ous —  they  had  too  many  enemies  to  multiply !    asked 
if  they  had  seen  the  view  from  such  and  such  a  point ; 

—  in  short,  carried  herself  as  one  to  whom  cordiality 


80  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

to  strangers  was  a  duty.  But  she  was  not  taken  with 
them.  Her  order  of  civilization  was  higher  than  theirs ; 
and  the  simplicity  as  well  as  old-fashioned  finish  of  her 
consciousness  recoiled  a  little  —  though  she  had  not 
experience  enough  of  a  certain  kind  to  be  able  at 
once  to  say  what  it  was  in  the  manner  and  expression 
of  the  young  ladies  that  did  not  please  her. 

Mammon,  gaining  more  and  more  of  the  upper  hand 
in  all  social  relations,  has  done  much  to  lower  the  petite 
as  well  as  the  grande  morale  of  the  country  —  the  good 
breeding  as  well  as  the  honesty.  Unmannerliness  with 
the  completest  self-possession,  is  a  poor  substitute  for 
stiffness,  a  poorer  for  courtesy.  Respect  and  gracious- 
ness  from  each  to  each  is  of  the  very  essence  of  Christi- 
anity, independently  of  rank,  or  possession,  or  relation. 
A  certain  roughness  and  rudeness  have  usurped  upon 
the  intercourse  of  the  century.  It  comes  of  the  spread 
of  imagined  greatness ;  true  greatness,  unconscious  of 
itself,  cannot  find  expression  other  than  gracious.  In 
the  presence  of  another,  a  man  of  true  breeding  is  but 
faintly  aware  of  his  own  self,  and  keenly  aware  of  the 
other's  self.  Before  the  human  —  that  bush  which, 
however  trodden  and  peeled,  yet  burns  with  the  divine 
presence  —  the  man  who  thinks  of  the  homage  due  to 
him,  and  not  of  the  homage  owing  by  him,  is  essen- 
tially rude.  Mammon  is  slowly  stifling  and  desiccating 
Rank ;  both  are  miserable  deities,  but  the  one  is  yet 
meaner  than  the  other.  Unrefined  families  with  money 
are  received  with  open  arms  and  honors  paid,  in  circles 
where  a  better  breeding  than  theirs  has  hitherto  pre- 
vailed :  this,  working  along  with  the  natural  law  of 
corruption  where  is  no  aspiration,  has  gradually  caused 
the  deterioration  of  which  I  speak.  Courtesy  will 
never  regain  her  former  position,  but  she  will  be  raised 


A    MORIS-ING    CALL.  81 


to  a  much  higher ;  like  Duty,  she  will  be  known  as  a 
daughter  of  the  living  God,  "  the  first  stocke  father  of 
gentilnes ; "  for  in  his  neighbor  every  man  will  see  a 
revelation  of  the  Most  High. 

Without  being  able  to  recognize  the  superiority  of  a 
woman  who  lived  in  a  cottage,  the  young  ladies  felt 
and  disliked  it ;  the  matron  felt  the  commonness  of 
the  girls,  without  knowing  what  exactly  it  was.  The 
girls,  on  the  other  hand,  were  interested  in  the  young 
man  :  he  looked  like  a  gentleman !  Ian  was  interested 
in  the  young  women  :  he  thought  they  were  shy,  when 
they  were  only  "  put  out,"  and  wished  to  make  them 
comfortable  —  in  which  he  quickly  succeeded.  His 
unconsciously  commanding  air  in  the  midst  of  his  great 
courtesy,  roused  their  admiration,  and  they  had  not 
been  many  minutes  in  his  company  ere  they  were  sat- 
isfied that,  however  it  was  to  be  accounted  for,  the 
young  man  was  in  truth  very  much  of  a  gentleman. 
It  was  an  unexpected  discovery  of  northern  produce, 
and  "  the  estate  "  gathered  interest  in  their  eyes.  Chris- 
tina did  the  greater  part  of  the  talking,  but  both  did 
their  best  to  be  agreeable. 

Ian  saw  quite  as  well  as  his  mother  what  ordinary 
girls  they  were,  but,  accustomed  to  the  newer  modes  in 
manner  and  speech,  though  uncorrupted  by  them,  he 
was  not  shocked  by  movements  and  phrases  that  an- 
noyed her.  The  mother  apprehended  fascination,  and 
was  uneasy,  though  far  from  showing  it. 

When  they  rose,  Ian  attended  them  to  the  door, 
leaving  his  mother  anxious,  for  he  would  accompany 
them  home  she  feared.  Till  he  returned,  she  did  not 
resume  her  seat. 

The  girls  took  their  way  along  the  ridge  in  silence* 
till  the  ruin  was  between  them  and  the  cottage,  when 


82  WHAT'S  MICE'S  MINE. 

they  burst  into  laughter.  They  were  ladies  enough 
not  to  laugh  till  out  of  sight,  but  not  ladies  enough  to 
see  there  was  nothing  to  laugh  at. 

"  A  harp,  too  !  "  said  Christina.  "  Mercy,  I  believe 
we  are  on  the  top  of  mount  Ararat,  and  have  this 
very  moment  left  the  real  Noah's  ark,  patched  into  a 
cottage !  Who  can  they  be  ?  " 

"  Gentlefolk  evidently,"  said  Mercy  —  "  perhaps  old- 
fashioned  people  from  Inverness." 

"  The  young  man  must  have  been  to  college !  —  In 
the  north,  you  know,"  continued  Christina,  thinking 
with  pride  that  her  brother  was  at  Oxford,  "  nothing 
is  easier  than  to  get  an  education,  such  as  it  is!  It 
costs  in  fact  next  to  nothing.  Ploughmen  send  their 
sons  to  St.  Andrew's  and  Aberdeen  to  make  gentlemen 
of  them !  Fancy  !  " 

"  You  must  allow  that  in  this  case  they  have  suc- 
ceeded ! " 

"  I  didn't  mean  his  father  was  a  ploughman !  That 
is  impossible !  Besides,  I  heard  him  call  that  very 
respectable  person  mother  !  She  is  not  a  ploughman's 
wife,  but  evidently  a  lady  of  the  middle  class." 

Christina  did  not  reckon  herself  or  her  people  to  be- 
long to  the  middle  class.  How  it  was  it  is  not  quite 
easy  to  say  —  perhaps  the  tone  of  implied  contempt 
with  which  her  father  spoke  of  the  lower  classes,  and 
the  quiet  negation  with  which  her  mother  would  allude 
to  shopkeepers,  may  have  had  to  do  with  it  —  but  the 
young  people  of  the  family  all  imagined  themselves  to 
belong  to  the  upper  classes !  It  was  a  pity  that  there 
was  no  title  in  it ;  but  any  one  of  them  might  well 
marry  a  coronet !  There  were  indeed  higher  than  they ; 
a  duke  was  higher ;  the  queen  was  higher  —  but  that 
was  pleasant !  It  was  nice  to  have  some  to  look  up  to  J 


A   MORNING    CALL.  83 


On  anyone  living  in  a  humble  house,  not  to  say  a 
poor  cottage,  they  looked  down,  as  the  case  might  be, 
with  indifference  or  patronage ;  they  little  dreamed 
how,  had  she  known  all  about  them,  the  respectable 
person  in  the  cottage  would  have  looked  down  upon 
them  !  At  the  same  time  the  laugh  in  which  they  now 
indulged  was  not  altogether  one  of  amusement ;  it  was 
in  part  an  effort  to  avenge  themselves  of  a  certain 
uncomfortable  feeling  of  rebuke. 

"  I  will  tell  you  my  theory,  Mercy  !  "  Christina  went 
on.  "  The  lady  is  the  widow  of  an  Indian  officer  — 
perhaps  a  colonel.  Some  of  their  widows  are  left  very 
poor,  though,  their  husbands  having  been  in  the  ser- 
vice of  their  country,  they  think  no  small  beer  of  them- 
selves !  The  young  man  has  a  military  air  which 
he  may  have  got  from  his  father ;  or  he  may  be  an 
officer  himself :  young  officers  are  always  poor ;  that's 
what  makes  them  so  nice  to  flirt  with.  I  wonder 
whether  he  really  is  an  officer !  We've  actually  called 
upon  the  people,  and  come  away  too,  without  knowing 
their  names !  " 

"  I  suppose  they're  from  the  New  House !  "  said  Ian, 
returning  after  he  had  bowed  the  ladies  from  the  thresh- 
old, rewarded  with  a  bewitching  smile  from  the  elder, 
and  a  shy  glance  from  the  younger. 

"  Where  else  could  they  be  from  ? "  returned  his 
mother ;  —  "  come  to  make  our  country  yet  poorer ! " 

"  They're  not  English  !  " 

"  Not  they !  —  vulgar  people  from  Glasgow  !  " 

"  I  think  you  are  too  hard  on  them,  mother !  They 
are  not  exactly  vulgar.  I  thought,  indeed,  there  was  a 
sort  of  gentleness  about  them  you  do  not  often  meet 
in  Scotch  girls !  " 

"  In  the  lowlands,  I  grant,  Ian ;  but  the  daughter  of 


84  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

the  poorest  tacksman  of  the  Macruadhs  has  a  man- 
ner and  a  modesty  I  have  seen  in  no  Sasunnach  girl 
yet.  Those  girls  are  bold  !  " 

"  Self-possessed,  perhaps  !  "    said  Ian. 

Upon  the  awkwardness  he  took  for  shyness,  had  fol- 
lowed a  reaction.  It  was  with  the  young  ladies  a  part 
of  good  breeding,  whatever  mistake  they  made,  not  to 
look  otherwise  than  contented  with  themselves  :  having 
for  a  moment  failed  in  this  principle,  they  were  eager 
to  make  up  for  it. 

"  Girls  are  different  from  what  they  used  to  be,  I 
fancy,  mother ! "  added  Ian  thoughtfully. 

"  The  world  changes  very  fast,"  said  the  mother 
sadly.  She  was  thinking,  like  Rebecca,  if  her  sons 
took  a  fancy  to  these  who  were  not  daughters  of  the 
land,  what  good  would  her  life  do  her. 

"Ah,  mother,  dear,"  said  Ian,  "  I  have  never  "  —  and 
as  he  spoke  the  cloud  deepened  on  his  forehead  — 
"  seen  more  than  one  woman  whose  ways  and  manners 
reminded  me  of  you  !  " 

"And  what  was  she?"  the  mother  asked,  in  pleased 
alarm. 

But  she  almost  repented  the  question  when  she  saw 
how  low  the  cloud  descended  on  his  countenance. 

"  A  princess,  mother.  She  is  dead,"  he  answered, 
and  turning  walked  so  gently  from  the  room  that  it 
was  impossible  for  Ms  mother  to  detain  him. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MB.    SERCOMBE. 

next  morning,  soon  after  sunrise,  the  laird 
began  to  cut  his  barley.  Ian  would  gladly  have 
helped,  but  Alister  had  a  notion  that  such  labor  was 
not  fit  for  him. 

"  I  had  a  comical  interview  this  morning,"  he  said, 
entering  the  kitchen  at  dinner-time.  "  I  was  out  be- 
fore my  people,  and  was  standing  by  the  burn-side 
near  the  foot-bridge,  when  I  heard  somebody  shouting, 
and  looked  up.  There  was  a  big  English  fellow  in 
gray  on  the  top  of  the  ridge,  with  his  gun  on  his 
shoulder,  holloing.  I  knew  he  was  English  by  his 
holloing.  It  was  plain  it  was  to  me,  but  not  choosing 
to  be  at  his  beck  and  call,  I  took  no  heed.  'Hullo, 
you  there  !  wake  up  ! '  he  said.  '  What  should  I  wake 
up  for?'  I  returned.  'To  carry  my  bag.  You  don't 
seem  to  have  anything  to  do !  I'll  give  you  five  shil- 
lings.' " 

"You  see  to  what  you  expose  yourself  by  your 
nnconventionalities,  Alister ! "  said  his  brother,  with 
mock  gravity. 

"It  was  not  the  fellow  we  carried  home  the  other 
night,  Ian ;  it  was  one  twice  his  size.  It  would  have 
taken  all  I  had  to  carry  him  home !  " 

"  The  others  must  have  pointed  you  out  to  him  !  " 
"  It  was  much  too  dark  for  him  to  know  me  again." 
"  You  forget  the  hall-lamp  !  "   said  Ian. 
85 


86  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure  !  I  had  forgotten ! "  answered 
Alister.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  I  thought,  when  I  took 
his  shilling,  he  would  never  know  me  from  Nebuchad- 
nezzar :  that  is  the  one  thing  I  am  ashamed  of  —  I  did 
in  the  dark  what  perhaps  I  should  not  have  done  in  the 
daylight!  —  I  don't  mean  I  would  not  have  carried  him 
and  his  bag  too !  It's  only  the  shilling !  Now  of  course 
I  will  hold  my  face  to  it ;  but  I  thought  it  better  to  be 
short  with  a  fellow  like  that." 

"Well?" 

"  '  You'll  want  prepayment,  no  doubt ! '  he  went  on, 
putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket.  Those  Sasunnach  fel- 
lows think  any  highlandman  keen  as  a  hawk  after 
their  dirty  money  !  " 

"  They  have  too  good  reason  in  some  parts ! "  said 
his  mother.  "  It  is  not  so  bad  here  yet,  but  there  is  a 
great  difference  in  that  respect.  The  old  breed  is  fast 
disappearing.  What  with  the  difficulty  of  living  by 
the  hardest  work,  and  the  occasional  chance  of  earning 
a  shilling  easily,  many  have  turned  both  idle  and 
greedy." 

"  That's  you  and  your  shilling,  Alister  ! "  said  Ian. 

"I  confess,"  returned  Alister,  "if  I  had  foreseen 
what  an  idea  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  country  I  might 
give,  I  should  have  hesitated.  But  I  haven't  begun  to 
be  ashamed  yet !  " 

"  Ashamed,  Alister !  "  cried  Ian.  "  What  does  it 
matter  what  a  fellow  like  that  thinks  of  you  ?  " 

"  And  mistress  Conal  has  her  shilling ! "  said  the 
mother. 

"If  the  thing  was  right,"  pursued  Ian,  "no  harm 
can  come  of  it ;  if  it  was  not  right,  no  end  of  harm 
may  come.  Are  you  sure  it  was  good  for  mistress 
Conal  to  have  that  shilling,  Alister?  What  if  it  be 


ME.    SERCOMBE.  87 


drawing  away  her  heart  from  him  who  is  watching  his 
old  child  in  her  turf-hut  ?  What  if  the  devil  be  grin- 
ning at  her  from  that  shilling  ?  " 

"  Ian !  if  God  had  not  meant  her  to  have  that  shil- 
ling, he  would  not  have  let  Alister  earn  it." 

"Certainly  God  can  take  care  of  her  from  a  shil- 
ling!" said  Ian,  with  one  of  his  strangely  sweet  smiles. 
"I  was  only  trying  Alister,  mother." 

"  I  confess  I  did  not  like  the  thought  of  it  at  first," 
resumed  Mrs.  Macruadh ;  "  but  it  was  mere  pride  ;  for 
when  I  thought  of  your  father,  I  knew  he  would  have 
been  pleased  with  it." 

"  Then,  mother,  I  am  glad  ;  and  I  don't  care  what 
Ian  or  any  Sasunnach  under  the  sun,  may  think  of  me." 

"  But  you  haven't  told  us,"  said  Ian,  "  how  the  thing 
ended." 

"  I  said  to  the  fellow,"  resumed  Alister,  "that  I  had 
my  shearing  to  do,  and  hadn't  the  time  to  go  with  him. 
'Is  this  your  season  for  sheep-shearing?'  said  he. 
c  We  call  cutting  the  corn  shearing,'  I  answered,  ' be- 
cause in  these  parts  we  use  the  reaping  hook.'  '  That 
is  a  great  waste  of  labor ! '  he  returned.  I  did  not  tell 
him  that  some  of  our  land  would  smash  his  machines 
like  toys.  'How?'  I  asked.  'It  costs  so  much  more,' 
he  said.  '  But  it  feeds  so  many  more ! '  I  replied. 
'  Oh  yes,  of  course,  if  you  don't  want  the  farmer  to 
make  a  living! '  'I  manage  to  make  a  living,'  I  said. 
'Then  you  are  the  farmer? '  '  So  it  would  appear.'  'I 
beg  your  pardon  ;  I  thought,  — '  '  You  thought  I  was 
an  idle  fellow,  glad  of  an  easy  job  to  keep  the  life  in 
me ! '  £  They  tell  me  you  were  deuced  glad  of  a  job  the 
other  night.'  '  So  I  was.  I  wanted  a  shilling  for  a 
poor  woman,  and  hadn't  one  to  give  her  without  going 
home  a  mile  and  a  half  for  it ! '  By  this  time  he  had 


come  down,  and  I  had  gone  a  few  steps  to  meet  him  ; 
I  did  not  want  to  seem  unfriendly.  '  Upon  my  word, 
it  was  very  good  of  you !  The  old  lady  ought  to  be 
grateful,'  he  said.  '  So  ought  we  all,'  I  answered, c  — 
I  to  your  friend  for  the  shilling,  and  he  to  me  for  tak- 
ing his  bag.  He  did  me  one  good  turn  for  my  poor 
woman,  and  I  did  him  another  for  his  poor  legs  ! '  'So 
you're  quits  ! '  said  he.  'Not  at  all,'  I  answered  ;  '  on 
the  contrary,  we  are  under  mutual  obligation.'  '  I 
don't  see  the  difference !  —  Hillo,  there's  a  hare ! '  And 
up  went  his  gun  to  his  shoulder.  c  None  of  that !  '  I 
cried,  and  knocked  up  the  barrel.  'What  do  you 
mean?'  he  roared,  looking  furious.  'Get  out  of  the 
way,  or  I'll  shoot  you?  '  There  will  be  murder  then  as 
well  as  poaching ! '  I  said.  '  Poaching  ! '  he  shouted, 
with  a  scornful  laugh.  'That  rabbit  is  mine,'  I  said; 
*  I  will  not  have  it  killed.'  '  Cool !  —  on  Mr.  Palmer's 
land  ! '  said  he.  '  The  land  is  mine,  and  I  am  my  own 
gamekeeper ! '  I  rejoined.  '  You  look  like  it ! '  he  re- 
turned. '  You  put  your  gun  on  half-cock,  and  go  after 
your  birds  !  —  not  in  this  direction  though,'  I  said,  and 
turned  and  left  him." 

"That  was  not  just  the  right  way,"  said  Ian. 

"  I  did  lose  my  temper  rather." 

"  There  was  no  occasion.  It  was  a  mistake  on  his 
part." 

"  I  almost  expected  to  hear  him  fire  after  I  left  him 
for  there  was  the  rabbit  he  took  for  a  hare  lurching 
slowly  away  in  full  view !  I'm  glad  he  didn't :  I  always 
feel  bad  after  a  row  !  " 

"  Is  the  conscience  getting  fastidious,  do  you  think, 
Alister  ?  "  said  Ian. 

"  How  is  anybody  to  know  that  when  he's  got  to 
obey  it?" 


MR.    SERCOMBE. 


"  True  —  so  long  as  we  suspect  no  mistake ! " 

"  So  long  as  it  agrees  with  the  Bible,  Ian  ! "  said  the 
mother. 

"  The  Bible  is  a  big  book,  mother,  and  the  things  in 
it  are  of  many  sorts, "  returned  Ian.  "  The  Lord  did 
not  approve  of  every  thing  in  it." 

"Ian !  Ian !  I  am  shocked  to  hear  you !  " 

"  It  is  the  truth,  mother." 

"  What  would  your  father  have  said  !  " 

" '  He  that  loveth  father  or  mother  more  than  me  is 
not  worthy  of  me.' " 

Ian  rose  from  the  table,  knelt  by  his  mother,  and 
laid  his  head  on  her  shoulder. 

She  was  silent,  pained  by  his  words,  and  put  her  arm 
round  him  as  if  to  shield  him  from  the  evil  one.  Hom- 
age to  will  and  word  of  the  Master,  apart  from  the 
acceptance  of  certain  doctrines  concerning  him,  was  in 
her  eyes  not  merely  defective  but  dangerous.  To  love 
the  Lord  with  the  love  of  truest  obedience  ;  to  believe 
him  the  son  of  God  and  the  saver  of  men  with  absolute 
acceptance  of  the  heart,  was  far  from  enough!  it  was 
but  sentimental  affection  ! 

A  certain  young  preacher  in  Scotland  some  years 
ago,  accused  by  an  old  lady  of  preaching  works,  took 
refuge  in  the  Lord's  sermon  on  the  mount :  "  O\v  ay ! " 
answered  the  partisan,  "  but  he  was  a  varra  yoong  mon 
whan  he  preacht  that  sermon  !  " 

Alister  rose  and  went :  there  was  to  him  something 
specially  sacred  in  the  communion  of  his  mother  and 
brother.  Heartily  he  held  wTith  Ian,  but  shrank  from 
any  difference  with  his  mother.  For  her  sake  he  re- 
ceived Sunday  after  Sunday  in  silence  what  was  to  him 
a  bushel  of  dust  with  here  and  there  a  bit  of  mouldy 
bread  in  it ;  but  the  mother  did  not  imagine  any  great 


90  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

coincidence  of  opinion  between  her  and  Alister  any 
more  than  between  her  and  Ian.  She  had  not  the 
faintest  notion  how  much  genuine  faith  both  of  them 
had,  or  how  it  surpassed  her  own  in  vitality. 

But  while  Ian  seemed  to  his  brother,  who  knew  him 
best,  hardly  touched  with  earthly  stain,  Alister,  not- 
withstanding his  large  and  dominant  humanity,  was 
still  in  the  troublous  condition  of  one  trying  to  do  right 
against  a  powerful  fermentation  of  pride.  He  held 
noblest  principles ;  but  the  sediment  of  generations  was 
too  easily  stirred  up  to  cloud  them.  He  was  not  quite 
honest  in  his  attitude  towards  some  of  his  ancestors, 
judging  them  far  more  leniently  than  he  would  have 
judged  others.  He  loved  his  neighbor,  but  his  neigh- 
bor was  mostly  of  his  own  family  or  his  own  clan.  He 
might  have  been  unjust  for  the  sake  of  his  own  —  a 
small  fault  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  but  a  great  fault 
indeed  in  a  nature  like  his,  capable  of  being  so  much 
beyond  it.  For,  while  the  faults  of  a  good  man  cannot 
be  such  evil  things  as  the  faults  of  a  bad  man,  they  are 
more  blameworthy,  and  greater  faults  than  the  same 
would  be  in  a  bad  man  :  we  must  not  confuse  the  guilt 
of  the  person  with  the  abstract  evil  of  the  thing. 

Ian  was  one  of  those  blessed  few  who  doubt  in  virtue 
of  a  larger  faith.  While  its  roots  were  seeking  a  deeper 
soil,  it  could  not  show  so  fast  a  growth  above  ground. 
He  doubted  most  about  the  things  he  loved  best, 
while  he  devoted  the  energies  of  a  mind  whose  keenness 
almost  masked  its  power,  to  discover  possible  ways  of 
believing  them.  To  the  wise  his  doubts  would  have 
been  his  best  credentials ;  they  were  worth  tenfold  the 
faith  of  most.  It  was  truth,  and  higher  truth,  he  was 
always  seeking.  The  sadness  which  colored  his  deepest 
individuality,  only  one  thing  could  ever  remove  —  the 


ME.    SEECOMBE.  91 


conscious  presence  of  the  Eternal.  This  is  true  of  all 
sadness,  but  Ian  knew  it. 

He  overtook  Alister  on  his  way  to  the  barley-field. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  find  out  wherein  lay  the  false- 
ness of  the  position  in  which  you  found  yourself  this 
morning,"  said  he.  "  There  could  be  nothing  wrong  in 
doing  a  small  thing  for  its  reward  any  more  than  a  great 
one ;  where  I  think  you  went  wrong  was  in  assuming 
your  social  position  afterwards :  —  you  should  have  wait- 
ed for  its  being  accorded  you.  There  was  no  occasion  to 
be  offended  with  the  man.  You  ought  to  have  seen 
how  you  must  look  to  him,  and  given  him  time.  I  don't 
perceive  why  you  should  be  so  gracious  to  old  mistress 
Conal,  and  so  hard  upon  him.  Certainly  you  would 
not  speak  as  he  did  to  any  man,  but  he  has  been  brought 
up  differently ;  he  is  not  such  a  gentleman  as  you  can- 
not help  being.  In  a  word,  you  ought  to  have  treated 
him  as  an  inferior,  and  been  more  polite  to  him." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    PLOUGH-BULLS. 

PARTLY,  it  may  be,  from  such  incidents  at  the 
outset  of  their  acquaintance,  there  was  for  some 
time  no  further  meeting  betwixt  any  of  the  chief's 
family  and  that  of  the  new  laird.  There  was  indeed, 
little  to  draw  them  together  except  common  isolation. 
Valentine  would  have  been  pleased  to  show  gratitude  to 
his  helpers  on  that  stormy  night,  but  after  his  sister's 
account  of  their  call,  he  felt  not  only  ashamed,  which 
was  right,  but  ashamed  to  show  his  shame,  which  was 
a  fresh  shame.  The  girls  on  their  part  made  so  much 
of  what  they  counted  the  ridiculous  elements  of  their 
"  adventure,"  that,  natural  vengeance  on  their  untruth- 
fulness,  they  came  themselves  to  see  in  it  almost  only 
what  was  ridiculous.  In  the  same  spirit  Mr.  Sercombe 
recounted  his  adventure  with  Alister,  which  annoyed 
his  host,  who  had  but  little  acquaintance  with  the 
boundaries  of  his  land.  From  the  additional  servants 
they  had  hired  in  the  vicinity,  the  people  of  the  New 
House  gathered  correct  information  concerning  those 
at  the  cottage,  but  the  honor  in  which  they  wrere  held 
only  added  to  the  ridicule  they  associated  with  them. 
On  the  other  side  also  there  was  little  inclination 
towards  a  pursuit  of  intercourse.  Mrs.  Macruadh,  from 
Nancy's  account  and  the  behavior  of  the  girls,  divined 
the  explanation  of  their  visit ;  and,  as  their  mother  did 
not  follow  it  up,  took  no  notice  of  it.  In  the  mind  of 

92 


THE    PLOUGH-BULLS.  93 

Mercy,  however,  lurked  a  little  thorn,  with  the  bluntest 
possible  sting  of  suspicion,  every  time  she  joined  in  a 
laucfu  at  the  people  of  the  cottage,  that  she  was  not 
quite  just  to  them. 

The  shooting,  such  as  it  was,  went  on,  the  sleeping 
and  the  eating,  the  walking  and  the  talking.  Long  let- 
ters were  written  from  the  New  House  to  female  friends 
—  letters  with  the  flourishes  if  not  the  matter  of  wit, 
and  funny  tales  concerning  the  natives,  whom,  because 
of  their  poor  houses  and  unintelligibility,  they  repre- 
sented as  semi-savages.  The  young  men  went  back  to 
Oxford ;  and  the  time  for  the  return  of  the  family  to 
civilization  seemed  drawing  nigh. 

It  happened  about  this  time,  however,  that  a  certain 
speculation  in  which  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  was  very 
materially  interested  failed  utterly,  depriving  him  of 
the  consciousness  of  a  good  many  thousands,  and  pro- 
ducing in  him  the  feeling  of  a  lady  of  moderate  means 
when  she  loses  her  purse :  he  must  save  it  off  something ! 
For  though  he  spent  freely,  he  placed  a  great  value  on 
money — as  well  he  might,  seeing  it  gave  him  all  the 
distinction  which  before  everything  else  he  prized. 
He  did  not  know  what  a  poor  thing  it  is  to  be  distin- 
guished among  men,  therefore  did  not  like  losing  his 
thousands.  Having  by  failure  sinned  against  Mammon, 
he  must  do  something  to  ease  the  money-conscience 
that  ruled  his  conduct ;  and  the  first  thing  that  oc- 
curred to  him  was,  to  leave  his  wife  and  daughters 
where  they  were  for  the  winter.  None  of  them  were 
in  the  least  delicate,  his  wife  professed  herself  fond  of 
a  country  life  ;  it  would  give  the  girls  a  good  oppor- 
tunity for  practice,  drawing,  and  study  generally,  and 
he  would  find  them  a  suitable  governess!  He  talked 
the  matter  over  with  Mrs.  Palmer.  She  did  not  mind 


94  WHAT'S  MINE'S 


much,  and  would  not  object.  He  would  spend  Christ- 
mas with  them,  he  said,  and  bring  down  Christian,  and 
perhaps  Mr.  Sercombe. 

The  girls  did  not  like  the  idea.  It  was  so  cold  in  the 
country  in  winter,  and  the  snow  would  be  so  deep  ! 
they  would  be  starved  to  death  !  But,  of  course  —  if 
the  governor  had  made  up  his  mind  to  be  cruel  ! 

The  thing  was  settled.  It  was  only  for  one  winter  ! 
It  would  be  a  new  experience  for  them,  and  they  would 
enjoy  their  next  season  all  the  more  !  The  governor 
had  promised  to  send  them  down  new  furs,  and  a  great 
boxful  of  novels!  He  did  not  apprize  them  that  he 
meant  to  sell  their  horses.  Their  horses  were  his  ! 
He  was  an  indulgent  father  and  did  not  stint  them,  but 
he  was  not  going  to  ask  their  leave  !  At  the  same  time 
he  had  not  the  courage  to  tell  them. 

He  took  his  wife  with  him  as  far  as  Inverness  for  a 
day  or  two,  that  she  might  lay  in  a  good  stock  of  every- 
thing antagonistic  to  cold. 

~  o 

When  father  and  mother  were  gone  from  the  house, 
the  girls  felt  larky.  They  had  no  wish  to  do  anything 
that  would  not  do  if  their  parents  were  at  home,  but 
they  had  some  sense  of  relief  in  the  thought  that  they 
could  do  whatever  they  liked.  A  more  sympathetic 
historian  might  say,  and  I  am  nowise  inclined  to  con- 
tradict him,  that  it  was  only  the  reaction  from  the  pain 
of  parting,  and  the  instinct  to  make  the  best  of  their 
loneliness.  However  it  was,  the  elder  girls  resolved  on 
a  walk  to  the  village,  to  see  what  might  be  seen,  and  in 
particular  the  young  woman  at  the  shop,  of  whom  they 
had  heard  their  brother  and  Mr.  Sercombe  speak  with 
admiration,  qualified  with  the  remark  that  she  was  so 
proper  they  could  hardly  get  a  civil  word  out  of  her. 
She  was  in  fact  too  scrupulously  polite  for  their  taste. 


THE    PLOUGH-BULLS.  95 

It  was  a  bright,  pleasant,  frosty  morning,  perfectly 
still,  with  an  air  like  wine.  The  harvest  had  vanished 
from  the  fields.  The  sun  shone  on  millions  of  tiny  dew- 
suns,  threaded  on  forsaken  spider-webs.  A  few  small, 
white,  frozen  clouds  flecked  the  sky.  The  purple 
heather  was  not  yet  gone,  and  not  any  snow  had  yet 
fallen  in  the  valley.  The  burn  was  large,  for  there  had 
been  a  good  deal  of  rain,  but  it  was  not  much  darker 
than  its  usual  brown  of  smoke-crystal.  They  tripped 
gayly  along.  If  they  had  little  spiritual,  they  had  much 
innocent  animal  life,  which  no  great  disappointments  or 
keen  twinges  of  conscience  had  yet  damped.  They  were 
but  human  kittens  —  and  not  of  the  finest  breed. 

As  they  crossed  the  root  of  the  spur,  and  looked 
down  on  the  autumn  fields  to  the  east  of  it,  they  spied 
something  going  on  which  they  did  not  understand. 
Stopping,  and  gazing  more  intently,  they  beheld  what 
seemed  a  contest  between  man  and  beast,  but  its 
nature  they  could  not  yet  distinguish.  Gradually  it 
grew  plain  that  two  of  the  cattle  of  the  country,  wild 
and  shaggy,  were  rebelling  against  control!  They  were 
in  fact  two  young  bulls,  of  the  small  black  highland 
breed,  accustomed  to  gallop  over  the  rough  hills,  jump- 
ing like  goats,  which  Alister  had  set  himself  the  task  of 
breaking  to  the  plough  —  by  no  means  an  easy  one,  or  to 
be  accomplished  single-handed  by  any  but  a  man  of  some 
strength,  and  both  persistence  and  patience.  In  the 
summer  he  had  lost  a  horse,  which  he  could  ill  afford 
to  replace :  if  he  could  make  these  bulls  work,  they 
would  save  him  the  price  of  the  horse,  would  cost  less 
to  keep,  and  require  less  attention !  He  bridled  them 
by  the  nose,  not  with  rings  through  the  gristle,  but  with 
nose-bands  of  iron,  bluntly  spiked  inside,  against  which 
they  could  not  pull  hard  without  pain,  and  though  he 


96  WHAT'S  MICE'S 


had  made  some  progress  could  by  no  means  trust  them 
yet  :  every  now  and  then  a  fit  of  mingled  wildness  and 
stubbornness  would  seize  them,  and  the  contest  would 
appear  about  to  begin  again  from  the  beginning  ;  but 
they  seldom  now  held  out  very  long.  The  nose-band  of 
one  of  them  had  come  off,  Alister  had  him  by  a  horn  in 
each  hand,  and  a  fierce  struggle  was  going  on  between 
them,  while  the  other  was  pulling  away  from  his  com- 
panion as  if  determined  to  take  to  the  hills.  It  was  a 
good  thing  for  them  that  share  and  coulter  were  pretty 
deep  in  the  ground,  so  the  help  of  their  master  ;  for  had 
they  got  away,  they  would  have  killed,  or  at  least  dis- 
abled themselves.  Presently,  however,  he  had  the 
nose-band  on,  and  by  force  and  persuasion  together  got 
the  better  of  them  ;  the  staggy  little  furies  gave  in  ;  and 
quickly  gathering  up  his  reins,  he  went  back  to  the 
plough-stilts,  each  hand  holding  at  once  a  handle  and  a 
rein.  With  energetic  obedience  the  little  animals  began 
to  pull  —  so  vigorously  that  it  took  nearly  all  the  chief's 
strength  to  hold  at  once  his  plough  aud  his  team. 

It  was  something  of  a  sight  to  the  girls  after  a  long 
dearth  of  events.  Many  things  indeed  upon  which  they 
scarce  cast  an  eye  when  they  came,  they  were  now 
capable  of  regarding  with  a  little  feeble  interest.  Nor, 
although  ignorant  of  everything  agricultural,  were  they 
quite  unused  to  animals  ;  having  horses  they  called  their 
own,  they  would  not  unfrequently  go  to  the  stables  to 
give  their  orders,  or  see  that  they  were  carried  out. 

They  waited  for  some  time  hoping  the  fight  would 
begin  again,  and  drew  a  little  nearer  ;  then,  as  by  com- 
mon consent,  left  the  road,  passed  the  ruin,  ran  down 
the  steep  side  of  the  ridge,  and  began  to  toil  through 
the  stubble  towards  the  ploughman.  A  sharp  straw 
would  every  now  and  then  go  through  a  delicate  stock- 


THE    PLOUGH-BULLS.  97 

ing,  and  the  damp  soil  gathered  in  great  lumps  on  their 
shoes,  but  they  plodded  on,  laughing  merrily  as  they 
went. 

The  Macruadh  was  meditating  the  power  of  the 
frost  to  break  up  the  clods  of  the  field,  when  he  saw 
the  girls  close  to  him.  He  pulled  in  his  cattle,  and 
taking  off  his  bonnet  with  one  hand  while  the  other 
held  both  reins  — 

"Excuse  me,  ladies,"  he  said;  "my  animals  are 
young,  and  not  quite  broken." 

They  were  not  a  little  surprised  at  such  a  reception, 
and  were  driven  to  conclude  that  the  man  must  be  the 
laird  himself.  They  had  heard  that  he  cultivated  his 
own  land,  but  had  not  therefore  imagined  him  laboring 
in  his  own  person. 

In  spite  of  the  blindness  produced  by  their  conven- 
tional training,  vulgarly  called  education,  they  could 
not  fail  to  perceive  something  in  the  man  worthy  of 
their  regard.  Before  them,  on  the  alert  towards  his  cat- 
tle, but  full  of  courtesy,  stood  a  dark,  handsome,  weather- 
browned  man,  with  an  eagle  air,  not  so  pronounced  as 
his  brother's.  His  hair  was  long,  and  almost  black,  — 
in  thick,  soft  curls  over  a  small,  well-set  head.  His 
glance  had  the  flash  that  comes  of  victorious  effort,  and 
his  free  carriage  was  that  of  one  whom  labor  has  no- 
wise subdued,  whose  every  muscle  is  instinct  with 
ready  life.  True  even  in  trifles,  he  wore  the  dark  beard 
that  nature  had  given  him  ;  disordered  by  the  struggle 
with  his  bulls,  it  imparted  a  certain  wild  look  that  con- 
trasted with  his  speech.  Christina  forgot  that  the  man 
was  a  laborer  like  any  other,  and  noted  that  he  did  not 
manifest  the  least  embarrassment  in  their  presence,  or 
any  consciousness  of  a  superfluity  of  favor  in  their 
approach :  she  did  not  know  that  neither  would  his 


98  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

hired  servant,  or  the  poorest  member  of  his  clan.  It 
was  said  of  a  certain  Sutherland  clan  that  they  were 
all  gentlemen,  and  of  a  certain  Argyll  clan  that  they 
were  all  poets  ;  of  the  Macruadhs  it  was  said  they  were 
both.  As  to  Mercy,  the -first  glance  of  the  chief's  hazel 
eyes,  looking  straight  into  hers  with  genial  respect, 
went  deeper  than  any  look  had  yet  penetrated. 

Ladies  in  Alister's  fields  were  not  an  every-day  sight. 
Hardly  before  had  his  work  been  enlivened  by  such  a 
presence ;  and  the  joy  of  it  was  in  his  eyes,  though 
his  behavior  was  calm.  Christina  thought  how  pleas- 
ant it  would  be  to  have  him  for  a  worshipping  slave  — 
so  interpenetrated  with  her  charms  that,  like  Una's  lion, 
he  would  crouch  at  her  feet,  come  and  go  at  her  pleas- 
ure, live  on  her  smiles,  and  be  sad  when  she  gave  him 
none.  She  would  make  a  gentleman  of  him,  then  leave 
him  to  dream  of  her!  It  would  be  a  pleasant  and 
interesting  task  in  the  dullness  of  their  winter's  banish- 
ment, with  the  days  so  short  and  the  nights  so  unen- 
durably  long !  The  man  was  handsome !  —  she  would 
do  it !  —  and  would  proceed  at  once  to  initiate  his 
conquest ! 

The  temptation  to  patronize  not  unfrequently  pre- 
sents an  object  for  the  patronage  superior  to  the  would- 
be  patron ;  for  the  temptation  is  one  to  which  slight 
persons  chiefly  are  exposed ;  it  affords  an  outlet  for  the 
vague  activity  of  self-importance.  Few  have  learned 
that  a  man  is  of  no  value  except  to  God  and  other 
•  men.  Self  would  fain  be  worshipped  instead  of  wor- 
shipping ;  and  such  was  the  spirit  in  which  Miss  Pal- 
mer dreamed  of  a  friendship  de  haut  en  has  with  the 
country  fellow. 

She  put  on  a  smile — no  difficult  thing,  for  she  was 
a  good-natured  girl.     It  looked  to  Alister  quite  natural. 


THE     PLOUGH-BULLS.  99 

It  was  nevertheless,  like  Hamlet's  false  friends,  "  sent 
for." 

"Do  you  like  ploughing?"  she  asked. 

Had  she  known  the  manners  of  the  country,  she 
would  have  added  "  laird,"  or  "  Macruadh." 

"Yes,  I  do,"  Alister  answered ;  "  but  I  should  plough 
all  the  same  if  I  did  not.  It  has  to  be  done." 

"  But  why  should  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Because  I  must,"  laughed  the  laird. 

What  ought  she  to  answer?  Should  she  condole 
with  the  man  because  he  had  to  work  ?  It  did  not  seem 
prudent !  She  would  try  another  tack ! 

"  You  had  some  trouble  with  your  oxen !  We  saw 
it  from  the  road,  and  were  quite  frightened.  I  hope 
you  are  not  hurt." 

"There  was  no  danger  of  that,"  answered  Alister 
with  a  smile. 

"  What  wild  creatures  they  are !  Isn't  it  rather  hard 
work  for  them  ?  They  are  so  small !  " 

"  They  are  as  strong  as  horses,"  answered  the  laird. 
"I  have  had  my  work  to  break  them!  Indeed,  I  can 
hardly  say  I  have  done  it  yet !  they  would  very  much 
like  to  run  their  horns  into  me  ! " 

"  Then  it  must  be  dangerous !  It  shows  that  they 
were  not  meant  to  work  ! " 

"They  were  meant  to  work  if  I  can  make  them 
work." 

"  Then  you  approve  of  slavery  !  "  said  Mercy. 

She  hardly  knew  what  made  her  oppose  him.  As 
yet  she  had  no  opinions  of  her  own,  though  she  did 
catch  a  thought  sometimes,  when  it  happened  to  come 
within  her  reach.  Alister  smiled  a  curious  smile. 

"  I  should,"  he  said,  "  if  the  right  people  were  made 
slaves  of.  I  would  take  shares  in  a  company  of  Alge- 


100  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

rine  pirates  to  rid  the  world  of  certain  types  of  the 
human !  " 

They  looked  at  each  other.  "  Sharp ! "  said  Christina 
to  herself. 

"  What  sorts  would  you  have  them  carry  off  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Idle  men  in  particular,"  answered  Alister. 

"  Would  you  not  have  them  take  idle  ladies  as  well  ?  " 

"  I  would  see  first  how  they  behaved  when  the  men 
were  gone." 

"  You  believe,  then,"  said  Mercy,  "  we  have  a  right 
to  make  the  lower  animals  work  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  our  duty,"  answered  Alister.  "  At  all 
events,  if  we  do  not,  we  must  either  kill  them  off  by 
degrees,  or  cede  them  this  world  and  emigrate.  But 
even  that  would  be  a  bad  thing  for  my  little  bulls  there ! 
It  is  not  so  many  years  since  the  last  wolf  was  killed 
—  here,  close  by!  and  if  the  dogs  turned  to  wolves 
again,  where  would  the  domestic  animals  be  ?  They 
would  then  have  wild  beasts  instead  of  men  for  their 
masters !  To  have  the  world  a  habitable  one,  man 
must  rule." 

"  Men  are  nothing  but  tyrants  to  them !  "  said  Chris- 
tina. 

"  Most  are,  I  admit." 

Ere  he  could  prevent  her,  she  had  walked  up  to  the 
near  bull,  and  begun  to  pat  him.  He  poked  a  sharp 
wicked  horn  sideways  at  her,  catching  her  cloak  on  it, 
and  grazing  her  arm.  She  started  back  very  white. 
Alister  gave  him  a  terrible  tug.  The  beast  shook  his 
head,  and  began  to  paw  the  earth. 

"Don't  go  near  him,"  he  said.  "But  you  needn't 
be  afraid  ;  he  can't  touch  you.  That  iron  band  round 
his  nose  has  spikes  in  it." 


THE    PLOUGH-BULL^.  101 


"  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  Christina  ;  "  it  is  no  wonder 
he  should  be  out  of  temper !  It  must  hurt  him  dread- 
fully!" 

"  It  does  hurt  him  when  he  pulls  against  it,  but  not 
when  he  is  quiet." 

"I  call  it  cruel!" 

"  I  do  not.  The  fellow  knows  what  is  wanted  of  him 
—  just  as  well  as  any  naughty  child." 

"  How  can  he  when  he  has  no  reason  ! " 

"  Oh,  hasn't  he !  " 

"  Animals  have  no  reason  ;  they  have  only  instinct ! " 

"  They  have  plenty  of  reason  —  more  than  many  men 
and  women.  They  are  not  so  far  off  us  as  pride  makes 
most  people  think !  It  is  only  those  that  don't  know 
them  that  talk  about  the  instinct  of  animals ! " 

"  Do  you  know  them  ?" 

"  Pretty  well  for  a  man ;  but  they're  often  too  much 
for  me." 

"  Anyhow  that  poor  thing  does  not  know  better." 

"  He  knows  enough  ;  and  if  he  did  not  would  you 
allow  him  to  do  as  he  pleased  because  he  didn't  know 
better  ?  He  wanted  to  put  his  horn  into  you  a  moment 
ago!" 

"  Still  it  must  be  hard  to  want  very  much  to  do  a 
thing,  and  not  be  able  to  do  it ! "  said  Mercy. 

"  I  used  to  feel  as  if  I  could  tear  my  old  nurse  to 
pieces  when  she  wouldn't  let  me  do  as  I  wanted  !  "  said 
Christina. 

"  I  suppose  you  do  whatever  you  please  now,  ladies  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed.  We  wanted  to  go  to  London  and  here 
we  are  for  the  winter ! " 

"  And  you  think  it  hard  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  do." 

"  And  so,  from  sympathy,  you  side  with  my  cattle  ?  " 


102  AVHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

«  Well  —  yes  !  " 

"  You  think  I  have  no  right  to  keep  them  captive, 
and  make  them  work  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,"  said  Christina. 

"  Then  it  is  time  I  let  them  go !  "  Alister  returned 
and  made  for  the  animals'  heads. 

"  No,  no  !  please  don't !  "  cried  both  the  girls,  turn- 
ing, the  one  white,  the  other  red. 

"  Certainly  not  if  you  do  not  wish  it !  "  said  Alister, 
staying  his  step.  "  If  I  did,  however,  you  would  be 
quite  safe,  for  they  would  not  come  near  me.  They 
would  be  off  up  that  hill  as  hard  as  they  could  tear, 
jumping  everything  that  came  in  their  way." 

"  Is  it  not  very  dull  here  in  the  winter  ? "  asked 
Christina,  panting  a  little,  but  trying  to  look  as  if  she 
had  known  quite  well  he  was  only  joking. 

« I  do  not  find  it  dull." 

"  Ah,  but  you  are  a  man,  and  can  do  as  you  please  !  " 

"I  never  could  do  as  I  pleased,  and  so  I  please  as  I 
do,"  answered  Alister. 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  you." 

"  ^VTien  you  cannot  do  as  you  like,  the  best  thing  is 
to  like  what  you  have  to  do.  One's  own  way  is  not  to 
be  had  in  this  world.  There's  a  better,  to  be  sure, 
which  is  to  be  had !  " 

"  I  have  heard  a  parson  talk  like  that,"  said  Mercy, 
"  but  never  a  layman ! " 

"My  father  was  a  parson,  as  good  as  any  layman. 
He  would  have  laid  me  on  my  back  in  a  moment  — 
here  as  I  stand !  "  said  Alister,  drawing  himself  to  his 
height. 

He  broke  suddenly  into  Gaelic,  addressing  the  more 
troublesome  of  the  bulls.  No  better  pleased  to  stand  still 
than  to  go  on,  he  had  fallen  to  digging  at  his  neighbor, 


THE    PLOUGH-BULLS.  103 

who  retorted  with  the  horn  convenient,  and  presently 
there  was  a  great  mixing  of  bull  and  harness  and  cloddy 
earth.  Turning  quickly  towards  them,  Alister  dropped 
a  rein.  In  a  moment  the  plough  was  out  of  the  furrow, 
and  the  bulls  were  straining  every  muscle,  each  to  send 
the  other  into  the  wilds  of  the  unseen  creation.  Alister 
sprang  to  their  heads,  and  taking  them  by  their  noses 
forced  them  back  into  the  line  of  the  furrow.  Christina, 
thinking  they  had  broken  loose,  fled ;  but  there  was 
Mercy  with  the  reins,  hauling  with  all  her  might ! 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you ! "  said  the  laird,  laughing 
with  pleasure.  "  You  are  a  friend  indeed  !  " 

"  Mercy !  Mercy !  come  away,"  cried  Christina. 

But  Mercy  did  not  heed  her.  The  laird  took  the 
reins,  and  administering  a  blow  each  to  the  animals, 
made  them  stand  still. 

There  are  tender-hearted  people  who  virtually  object 
to  the  whole  scheme  of  creation ;  they  would  neither 
have  force  used  nor  pain  suffered ;  they  talk  as  if  kind- 
ness could  do  everything,  even  where  it  is  not  felt. 
Millions  of  human  beings  but  for  suffering  would  never 
develop  an  atom  of  affection.  The  man  who  would  spare 
due  suffering  is  not  wise.  Because  a  thing  is  unpleas- 
ant, it  is  folly  to  conclude  it  ought  not  to  be.  There 
are  powers  to  be  born,  creations  to  be  perfected,  sinners 
to  be  redeemed,  through  the  ministry  of  pain,  to  be  born, 
perfected,  redeemed,  in  no  other  way.  But  Christina 
was  neither  wise  nor  unwise  after  such  fashion.  She 
was  annoyed  at  finding  the  laird  not  easily  to  be  brought 
to  her  feet,  and  Mercy  already  advanced  to  his  good 
graces.  She  was  not  jealous  of  Mercy,  for  was  she  not 
beautiful  and  Mercy  plain?  but  Mercy  had  by  \L&cpluck 
obtained  an  advantage,  and  the  handsome  ploughman 
looked  at  her  admiringly !  Partly  therefore  because  she 


104  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

was  not  pleased  with  him,  partly  that  she  thought  a  little 
out-cry  would  be  telling,  She  cried  out, 

"Oh,  you  wicked  man!  you  are  hurting  the  poor 
brutes !  " 

"  No  more  than  is  necessary,"  he  answered. 

"  You  are  cruel ! " 

"  Good  morning,  ladies." 

He  just  managed  to  take  off  his  bonnet,  for  the  four- 
legged  explosions  at  the  end  of  his  plough  were  pulling 
madly.  He  slackened  his  reins,  and  away  it  went,  like 
a  sharp  knife  through  a  Dutch  cheese. 

"  You've  made  him  quite  cross !  "  said  Mercy. 

"  What  a  brute  of  a  man  J  "  said  Christina. 

She  never  restrained  herself  from  teasing  cat  or 
puppy,  did  not  mind  hurting  it  a  little  even,  for  her 
amusement.  Those  capable  of  distinguishing  between  the 
qualities  of  resembling  actions  are  few.  There  are  some 
who  will  regard  Alister  as  capable  of  vivisection. 

On  one  occasion  when  the  brothers  were  boys,  Alister 
having  lost  his  temper  in  the  pursuit  of  a  runaway 
pony,  fell  upon  it  with  his  fists  the  moment  he  caught 
it.  Ian  put  himself  between,  and  received,  without 
word  or  motion,  more  than  one  blow  meant  for  the 
pony. 

"  Donal  was  only  in  fun,"  he  said  as  soon  as  Alister's 
anger  had  spent  itself.  "Father  would  never  have 
punished  him  like  that !  " 

Alister  was  ashamed,  and  never  again  was  guilty  of 
such  an  outbreak.  From  that  moment  indeed,  he  began 
the  serious  endeavor  to  subjugate  the  pig,  tiger,  mule, 
or  whatever  animal  he  found  in  himself.  There  re- 
mained, however,  this  difference  between  them  —  that 
Alister  punished  without  compunction,  while  Ian  was 
sorely  troubled  at  having  to  cause  any  suffering. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   FIR-GKOVE. 

AS  the  ladies  went  up  the  ridge,  regarded  in  the 
neighborhood  as  the  chief's  pleasure-ground 
where  nobody  went  except  to  call  upon  the  chief,  they 
must,  having  mounted  it  lower  down  than  where  they 
descended,  pass  the  cottage.  The  grove  of  birch, 
mountain-ash,  and  fir,  which  surrounded  it,  was  planted 
quite  irregularly,  and  a  narrow  foot-path  went  winding 
through  it  to  the  door.  Against  one  of  the  firs  was  a 
rough  bench,  turned  to  the  west,  and  seated  upon  it 
they  saw  Ian,  smoking  a  formless  mass  of  much  defiled 
sea-foam,  otherwise  meerschaum.  He  rose,  uncovered, 
and  sat  down  again.  But  Christina,  who  regarded  it 
as  a  praiseworthy  kindness  to  address  any  one  beneath 
her,  not  only  returned  his  salutation,  but  stopped,  and 
said, 

"  Good  morning  !  We  have  been  learning  how  they 
plough  in  Scotland,  but  I  fear  we  annoyed  the  plough- 
man." 

"  Fergus  does  sometimes  look  surly,"  said  Ian,  rising 
again,  and  going  to  her ;  "  he  has  bad  rheumatism, 
poor  fellow!  And  then  he  can't  speak  a  word  of  Eng- 
lish, and  is  ashamed  of  it !  " 

"  The  man  we  saw  spoke  English  very  well.  Is  Fer- 
gus your  brother's  name  ?  " 

"  No  ;  my  brother's  name  is  Alister  —  that  is  Gaelic 
for  Alexander." 

105 


106  WHAT'S  MICE'S  MINE. 

"  He  was  ploughing  with  two  wild  little  oxen,  and 
could  hardly  manage  them." 

"  Then  it  must  have  been  Alister  —  only,  excuse  me, 
he  could  manage  them  perfectly.  Alister  could  break 
a  pair  of  buffaloes." 

"  He  seemed  rather  vexed,  and  I  thought  it  might  be 
that  we  made  the  creatures  troublesome  —  I  do  not  mean 
he  was  rude  —  only  a  little  rough  to  us." 

Ian  smiled,  and  waited  for  more. 

"  He  did  not  like  to  be  told  he  was  hard  on  the  ani- 
mals. I  only  said  the  poor  things  did  not  know  better ! " 

"  Ah  —  I  see  !  —  He  understands  animals  so  well,  he 
doesn't  like  to  be  meddled  with  in  his  management  of 
them.  If  they  didn't  know  better,  I  daresay  he  told 
you  he  had  to  teach  them  better.  They  are  trouble- 
some little  wretches.  Yes;  I  confess  he  is  a  little 
touchy  about  animals  !  " 

Somehow  Christina  felt  herself  rebuked,  and  did  not 
like  it.  He  had  almost  told  her  that,  if  she  had  quar- 
relled with  his  ploughman-brother,  the  fault  must  be 
hers! 

"But  indeed,  Captain  Macruadh,"  she  said  —  for  the 
people  called  him  captain,  "  I  am  not  ignorant  about 
animals!  We.  have  horses  of  our  own,  and  know  all 
about  them.  —  Don't  we,  Mercy  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mercy ;  "  they  take  apples  and  sugar 
from  our  hands." 

"  And  you  would  have  the  chief's  bulls  tamed  with 
apples  and  sugar ! "  said  Ian,  laughing.  "  But  the 
horses  were  tamed  before  ever  you  saw  them  !  If  you 
had  taken  them  wild,  or  even  when  they  were  foals,  and 
taught  them  everything,  then  you  would  know  a  little 
about  them.  An  acquaintance  is  not  a  friendship ! 
My  brother  loves  animals  and  understands  them  almost 


THE    FIE-GROVE.  107 


like  human  beings ;  he  understands  them  better  than 
some  human  beings,  for  the  most  cunning  of  the  ani- 

o   I  o 

mals  are  yet  simple.  He  knows  what  they  are  thinking 
when  I  cannot  read  a  word  of  their  faces.  I  remember 
one  terrible  night,  winters  ago  —  there  had  been  a 
blinding  drift  on  and  off  during  the  day  —  and  my  father 
and  mother  were  getting  anxious  about  him  —  how  he 
came  staggering  in,  and  fell  on  the  floor,  and  a  great 
lump  in  his  plaid  on  his  back  began  to  wallow  about, 
and  out  crept  his  big  colly !  They  had  been  to  the 
hills  to  look  after  a  few  sheep,  and  the  poor  dog  was 
exhausted,  and  Alister  carried  him  home  at  the  risk  of 
his  life." 

"  A  valuable  animal,  I  suppose  !  "  said  Christina. 

"  He  had  been,  but  was  no  more  what  the  world  calls 
valuable.  He  was  an  old  dog  almost  past  work  —  but 
the  wisest  creature  !  Poor  fellow,  he  never  recovered 
that  day  on  the  hills !  A  week  or  so  after,  we  buried 
him  —  in* the  hope  of  a  blessed  resurrection,"  added  Ian, 
with  a  smile. 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Good  heavens  !  "  He  caught  the  look,  but  said  noth- 
ing, for  he  saw  they  had  "  no  understanding." 

The  brothers  believed  most  devoutly  that  the  God 
who  is  present  at  the  death-bed  of  the  sparrow  does  not 
forget  the  sparrow  when  he  is  dead ;  for  they  had  been 
taught  that  he  is  an  unchanging  God ;  "  and,"  argued 
Ian,  "  what  God  remembers,  he  thinks  of,  and  what  he 
thinks  of,  is."  But  Ian  knew  that  what  misses  the  heart 
falls  under  the  feet.  A  man  is  bound  to  share  his  best, 
not  to  tumble  his  seed-pearls  into  the  feeding-trough,  to 
break  the  teeth  of  them  that  are  there  at  meat.  He 
had  but  lifted  a  corner  to  give  them  a  glimpse  of  the 
Life  eternal,  and  the  girls  thought  him  ridiculous !  The 


108  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

human  caterpillar  that  has  not  yet  even  began  to  sicken 
with  the  growth  of  her  psyche-wings,  is  among  the 
poorest  of  the  human  animals ! 

But  Christina  was  not  going  to  give  in!  Her  one 
idea  of  the  glory  of  life  was  the  subjugation  of  men. 
As  if  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  she  went  close  up  to 
him. 

"  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,"  she  said,  almost  coax- 
ingly,  but  with  a  visible  mingling  of  boldness  and  shy- 
ness, neither  of  them  quite  assumed  ;  for,  though  con- 
scious of  her  boldness,  she  was  not  frightened ;  and 
there  was  something  in  the  eagle-face  that  made  it  easy 
to  look  shy.  "I  did  not  mean  to  be  rude.  I  am 
sorry." 

"  You  mistake  me,"  he  said  gently.  "  I  only  wanted 
you  to  know  you  misjudged  my  brother." 

"  Then,  if  you  have  forgiven  me,  you  will  let  me  sit 
for  a  few  minutes !  I  am  so  tired  with  walking  in  the 
sticky  earth !  " 

"Do,  pray,  sit  down,"  responded  Ian  heartily,  and 
led  the  way  to  the  bench. 

But  she  sank  gracefully  at  the  foot  of  the  next  fir, 
while  Mercy  sat  down  on  the  bench. 

"  Do  go  on  with  your  pipe,"  she  said,  looking  up  as 
she  arranged  her  dress ;  "  I  am  quite  used  to  smoke. 
Papa  would  smoke  in  church  if  he  dared ! " 

"  Chrissy  !  You  know  he  never  smokes  in  the  draw- 
ing-room !  "  cried  Mercy,  scandalized. 

"  I  have  seen  him  —  when  mamma  was  away." 

Ian  began  to  be  a  little  more  interested  in  the  plain 
one.  But  what  must  his  mother  think  to  see  them  sit- 
ting there  together !  He  could  not  help  it !  if  ladies 
chose  to  sit  down,  it  was  not  for  him  to  forbid  them ! 
And  there  was  a  glimmer  of  conscience  in  the  younger ! 


THE    FIR-GKOVE.  109 


Most  men  believe  only  what  they  find  or  imagine 
possible  to  themselves.  They  may  be  sure  of  this,  that 
there  are  men  so  different  from  them  that  no  judgment 
they  pass  upon  them  is  worth  a  straw,  simply  because 
it  does  not  apply  to  them.  I  assert  of  Ian  that  neither 
beauty  nor  intellect  attracted  him.  Imagination  would 
entice  him,  but  the  least  lack  of  principle  would  arrest 
its  influence.  The  simplest  manifestation  of  a  live  con- 
science would  draw  him  more  than  anything  else.  I 
do  not  mean  the  conscience  that  proposes  questions,  but 
the  conscience  that  loves  right  and  turns  from  wrong. 

Notwithstanding  the  damsel's  invitation,  he  did  not 
resume  his  pipe.  He  was  simple,  but  not  free  and  easy 
—  too  sensitive  to  the  relations  of  life  to  be  familiar 
upon  invitation  with  any  girl.  If  she  was  not  one  with 
whom  to  hold  real  converse,  it  was  impossible  to  blow 
dandelions  with  her,  and  talk  must  confine  itself  to  the 
commonplace.  After  gentlest  assays  to  know  what 
was  possible,  the  result  might  be  that  he  grew  courte- 
ously playful,  or  drew  back,  and  confined  himself  to 
the  formal. 

In  the  conversation  that  followed,  he  soon  found  the 
younger  capable  of  being  interested,  and  having  seen 
much  in  many  parts  of  the  world,  had  plenty  to  tell 
her.  Christina  smiled  sweetly,  taking  everything  with 
over-gentle  politeness,  but  looking  as  if  all  that  inter- 
ested her  was,  that  there  they  were,  talking  about  it. 
Provoked  at  last  by  her  persistent  lack  of  genuine  re- 
ception, Ian  was  tempted  to  try  her  with  something 
different :  perhaps  she  might  be  moved  to  horror.  Any 
feeling  would  be  a  find!  He  thought  he  would  tel' 
them  an  adventure  he  had  read  in  a  book  of  travels. 

In  Persia,  alone  in  a  fine  moonlight  night,  the  trav- 
eller had  fallen  asleep  on  his  horse,  but  awoke  suddenly, 


110  WHAT'S  MINE'S 


roused  by  something  frightful,  he  did  not  know  what. 
The  evil  odor  all  about  him  explained,  however,  his 
bewilderment  and  terror.  Presently  he  was  bumped 
on  this  side,  then  bumped  on  that  ;  first  one  knee,  then 
the  other,  would  be  struck  ;  now  the  calf  of  one  leg  was 
caught,  now  the  calf  of  the  other  ;  then  both  would  be 
caught  at  once,  and  he  shoved  nearly  over  his  pommel. 
His  horse  was  very  uneasy,  but  could  ill  help  himself  in 
the  midst  of  a  moving  mass  of  uncertain  objects.  The 
traveller  for  a  moment  imagined  himself  in  a  boat  on 
the  sea,  with  a  huge  quantity  of  wrecked  cargo  float- 
ing around  him,  whence  came  the  frequent  collisions  he 
was  undergoing  ;  but  he  soon  perceived  that  the  vague 
shapes  were  boxes,  pannierwise  on  the  backs  of  mules, 
moving  in  caravan  along  the  desert.  Of  not  a  few  the 
lids  were  broken,  of  some  gone  altogether,  revealing 
their  contents  —  the  bodies  of  good  Mussulmans,  on 
their  way  to  the  consecrated  soil  of  Mecca  for  burial. 
Carelessly  shambled  the  mules  along,  stumbling  as  they 
jogged  over  the  uneven  ground,  their  boxes  tilting  from 
side  to  side,  sorely  shaken,  some  of  them,  in  frustration 
of  dying  hopes,  scattering  their  contents  over  the  track 
—  for  here  and  there  a  mule  carried  but  a  wreck  of  his 
wooden  panniers.  On  and  on  over  the  rough  gravelly 
waste,  under  the  dead  cold  moon,  weltered  the  slow 
stream  of  death  ! 

"  You  may  be  sure,"  concluded  Ian,  "  he  made  haste 
out  of  the  ruck  !  But  it  was  with  difficulty  he  got  clear, 
happily  to  windward  —  then  for  an  hour  sat  motionless 
on  his  horse,  watching  through  the  moonlight  the  long 
dark  shadow  flitting  towards  its  far-off  goal.  When  at 
length  he  could  no  longer  descry  it,  he  put  his  horse  to 
his  speed  —  but  not  to  overtake  it." 

As  he  spoke,  Mercy's  eyes  grew  larger  and  larger, 


THE    FIK-GROVE.  Ill 


never  leaving  his  face.  She  had  at  least  imagination 
enough  for  that !  Christina  curled  her  pretty  lip,  and 

look  disgusted.     The  one  at  a  horrible  tale  was  horri- 
~ 

fied :  the  other  merely  disgusted  !  The  one  showed 
herself  capable  of  some  reception ;  the  other  did  not. 

"  Something  might  be  done  with  that  girl !  "  thought 
Ian. 

"  Did  he  see  their  faces  ?  "  drawled  Christina. 

Mercy  was  silent,  but  her  eyes  remained  fixed  on  him. 
It  was  lan's  telling,  more  than  the  story,  impressed  her. 

"I  don't  think  he  mentions  them,"  answered  Ian. 
"  But  shall  I  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  "  what  seems  to  me 
the  most  unpleasant  thing  about  the  business  ?  " 

"Do,"  said  Christina. 

"  I  think  it  must  be  for  the  poor  ghosts  to  see  such  a 
disagreeable  fuss  made  with  their  old  clothes." 

Christina  smiled. 

"  Do  you  think  ghosts  see  what  goes  on  after  they 
are  dead  ?  "  asked  Mercy. 

"The  ghosts  are  not  dead,"  said  Ian,  "and  I  can't 
tell.  But  I  am  inclined  to  think  some  ghosts  have  to 
stay  a  while  and  look  on." 

"  What  would  be  the  good  of  that  ?  "  returned  Mercy. 

"  Perhaps  to  teach  them  the  little  good  they  were  in 
it,  or  got  out  of  it,"  he  answered.  "  To  have  to  stick 
to  a  thing  after  it  is  dead,  is  terrible,  but  may  teach 
much." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Mercy.  "  The  world 
is  not  dead !  " 

"Better  and  better!"  Ian  thought  with  himself. 
"  The  girl  can  understand !  — A  thing  is  always  dead  to 
you  when  you  have  clone  with  it,"  he  answered  her. 
"  Suppose  you  had  a  ball-dress  crumpled  and  unsightly 
—  the  roses  on  it  withered,  and  the  tinsel  shining  hide- 


112  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE*. 

ously  through  them  —  would  not  the  dress  be  a  dead 
dress?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"  Then  suppose,  for  something  you  had  done,  or  for 
something  you  would  not  stop  being,  you  had  to  wear 
that  ball-dress  till  something  came  about  —  you  would 
be  like  the  ghosts  that  cannot  get  away.  —  Suppose, 
when  you  were  old  and  wrinkled,  —  " 

"You  are  very  amusing,  Captain  Macruadh!"  said 
Christina,  with  a  bell-like  laugh.  But  Ian  went  on. 

"  Some  stories  tell  us  of  ghosts  with  the  same  old 
wrinkled  faces  in  which  their  bodies  died.  The  world 
and  its  uses  over,  they  are  compelled  to  haunt  it  still, 
seeing  how  things  go  but  taking  no  share  in  them,  be- 
holding the  relief  their  death  is  to  all,  feeling  they  have 
lost  their  chance  of  beauty,  and  are  fixed  in  ugliness, 
having  wasted  being  itself  !  They  are  like  a  man  in  a 
miserable  dream,  in  which  he  can  do  nothing,  but  in 
which  he  must  stay,  and  go  dreaming,  dreaming  on 
without  hope  of  release.  To  be  in  a  world  and  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it  must  be  awful !  A  little  more 
imagination  would  do  some  people  good! " 

"  No,  please  !  —  no  more  for  me !  "  said  Christina, 
laughing  as  she  rose. 

Mercy  was  silent.  Though  she  had  never  really 
thought  about  anything  herself,  she  did  not  doubt  that 
certain  people  were  in  earnest  about  something.  She 
knew  that  she  ought  to  be  good,  and  she  knew  she  was 
not  good ;  how  to  be  good  she  did  not  know,  for  she 
had  never  set  herself  to  be  good.  She  sometimes 
wished  she  were  good ;  but  there  are  thousands  of  wan- 
dering ghosts  who  would  be  good  if  they  might  without 
taking  trouble  :  the  kind  of  goodness  they  desire  would 
not  be  worth  a  life  to  hold  it. 


THE    FIR-GROVE.  113 


Fear  is  a  wholesome  element  in  the  human  economy ; 
they  are  merely  silly  who  would  banish  it  from  all  asso- 
ciation with  religion.  True,  there  is  no  religion  in  fear ; 
religion  is  love,  and  love  casts  out  fear  ;  but  until  a  man 
has  love,  it  is  well  he  should  have  fear.  So  long  as 
there  are  wild  beasts  about,  it  is  better  to  be  afraid  than 
secure. 

The  vague  awe  ready  to  assail  every  soul  that  has  not 
found  rest  in  its  source,  readier  the  more  honest  the 
soul,  had  for  the  first  time  laid  hold  of  Mercy.  The 
earnest  face  of  the  speaker  had  most  to  do  with  it. 
She  had  never  heard  anybody  talk  like  that ! 

The  lady  of  the  house  appeared,  with  kind  dignity, 
asking  if  they  would  not  take  some  refreshment :  to  a 
highlander  hospitality  is  a  law  where  not  a  passion. 
Christina  declined  the  offer. 

"  Thanks !  we  were  only  a  little  tired,"  she  said,  "  and 
are  quite  rested  now.  How  beautifully  sheltered  your 
house  is ! " 

"  On  the  side  of  the  sea,  yes,"  answered  Mrs. 
Macruadh ;  "  but  not  much  on  the  east  where  we  want 
it  most.  The  trees  are  growing,  however !  " 

When  the  sisters  were  out  of  sight  of  the  cottage  — 

"  Well ! "  remarked  Christina,  "  he's  a  nice  young 
man,  is  he  not?  Exceedingly  well  bred!  And  what 
taste  he  has !  He  knows  how  to  amuse  ladies  !  " 

Mercy  did  not  answer. 

"I  never  heard  anything  so  disgusting!"  added 
Christina. 

"  But,"  suggested  Mercy,  "  you  like  to  read  horrid 
stories,  Chrissy!'  You  said  so  only  yesterday!  And 
there  was  nothing  in  what  he  told  us  that  oughtn't  to 
be  spoken  about." 

"  What !  —  not     those    hideous     coffins  —  and    the 


114  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

bodies  dropping  out  of  them  —  all  crawling  no  doubt  ?  " 

"  That  is  your  own,  Chrissy !  You  know  he  did  not 
go  so  far  as  that !  If  Colonel  Webberly  had  told  you 
the  story,  you  would  have  called  it  charming  —  in  fun, 
of  course,  I  mean ! " 

But  Christina  never  liked  the  argumentum  adfemi- 
nam. 

"  I  would  not !  You  know  I  would  not ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  I  do  believe  the  girl  has  fallen  in  love  with 
the  horrid  man  !  Of  the  two,  I  declare,  I  like  the 
ploughman  better.  I  am  sorry  I  happened  to  vex  him  ; 
he  is  a  good  stupid  sort  of  fellow !  I  can't  bear  this 
man  !  How  horribly  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  you  when  he 
was  talking  that  rubbish  about  the  ball-dress ! " 

"He  was  anxious  to  make  himself  understood.  I 
know  he  made  me  think  I  must  mind  what  I  was 
about ! " 

"Oh,  nonsense!  We  didn't  come  into  this  wilder- 
ness to  be  preached  to  by  a  lay  John  the  Baptist !  He 
is  an  ill-bred  fellow  !  " 

She  would  not  have  said  so  much  against  him,  had  not 
Mercy  taken  his  part. 

Mercy  rarely  contradicted  her  sister,  but  even  this 
brief  passage  with  a  real  man  had  roused  the  justice  in 
her. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,  Chrissy,"  she  said.  "  He 
seems  to  me  very  much  of  a  gentleman  ?  " 

She  did  not  venture  te  say  all  she  felt,  not  choosing 
to  be  at  absolute  variance  with  her  sister,  and  the 
threatened  quarrel  blew  over  like  a  shower  in  spring. 

But  some  sort  of  impression  remained  from  the  words 
of  Ian  on  the  mind  of  Mercy,  for,  the  next  morning  she 
read  a  chapter  in  the  book  of  Genesis,  and  said  a  prayer 
her  mother  had  taught  her. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

AMONG    THE    HILLS. 

"YTTHEN"  Mr  and  Mrs.  Palmer  reached  Inverness, 
V  V  they  found  they  could  spend  a  few  days  there, 
one  way  and  another,  to  good  purpose,  for  they  had 
friends  to  visit  as  well  as  shopping  to  do.  Mr.  Pal- 
mer's affairs  calling  him  to  the  south  were  not  immedi- 
ately pressing,  and  their  sojourn  extended  itself  to  a 
full  week  of  eight  days,  during  which  the  girls  were 
under  no  rule  but  their  own.  Their  parents  regarded 
them  as  perfectly  to  be  trusted,  nor  were  the  girls  aware 
of  any  reason  why  they  should  not  be  so  regarded. 
•  The  window  of  Christina's  bedroom  overlooked  a 
part  of  the  road  between  the  New  House  and  the  old 
castle ;  and  she  could  see  from  it  all  the  ridge  as  far  as 
the  grove  that  concealed  the  cottage :  if  now  they  saw 
more  of  the  young  men  their  neighbors,  and  were  led 
farther  into  the  wilds,  thickets,  or  pasturage  of  their 
acquaintance,  I  cannot  say  she  had  no  hand  in  it. 

She  was  depressed  by  a  keen  sense  of  failure :  the 
boor,  as  she  called  him,  was  much  too  thick-skinned  for 
any  society  but  that  of  his  bulls !  and  she  had  made  no 
progress  with  the  Valentine  any  more  than  with  the 
Orson ;  he  was  better  pleased  with  her  ugly  sister  than 
with  her  beautiful  self ! 

She  would  have  given  neither  of  the  men  another 
thought,  but  that  there  was  no  one  else  with  whom  to 
do  any  of  that  huckster  business  called  flirting,  which 

115 


116  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

to  her  had  just  harm  enough  in  it  to  make  it  interesting. 
Life  without  it  would  be  a  waste !  She  was  one  of 
those  who  can  imagine  no  beauty  or  enjoyment  in 
a  thing  altogether  right.  She  took  it  for  granted  that 
bad  and  beautiful  were  often  one ;  that  all  the  pleasures 
of  the  world  owed  their  delight  to  a  touch,  a  wash,  a 
tincture  of  the  wicked  in  them.  Such  have  in  them- 
selves so  many  crooked  lines  that  they  fancy  nature  laid 
down  on  lines  of  crookedness.  They  think  the  obliquity 
the  beauty  of  the  campanile,  the  blurring  the  charm  of 
the  sketch. 

I  tread  on  delicate  ground  —  ground  which,  alas ! 
many  girls  tread  boldly,  scattering  much  feather-bloom 
from  the  wings  of  poor  Psyche,  gathering  for  her  hoards 
of  unlovely  memories,  and  sowing  the  seed  of  many  a 
wish  that  they  had  done  differently.  They  cannot  pass 
over  such  ground  and  escape  having  their  nature  more 
or  less  vulgarized.  I  do  not  speak  of  anything  counted  • 
wicked,  but  of  gambling  with  the  precious  and  lovely 
things  of  the  deepest  human  relation.  If  a  girl  with 
such  an  experience  marry  a  man  she  loves  —  with  what 
power  of  loving  may  be  left  such  a  one  —  will  she  not 
now  and  then  remember  something  it  would  be  joy  to 
discover  she  had  but  dreamed  ?  will  she  be  able  always 
to  forget  certain  cabinets  in  her  brain  which,  "  it  would 
not  do  "  to  throw  open  to  the  husband  who  thinks  her 
simple  as  well  as  innocent  ?  Honesty  and  truth,  God's 
essentials,  are  perhaps  more  lacking  in  ordinary  inter- 
course between  young  men  and  women  than  anywhere 
else.  Greed  and  selfishness  are  as  busy  there  as  in 
money-making  and  ambition.  Thousands  on  both  sides 
are  constantly  seeking  more  than  their  share  —  more 
also  than  they  even  intend  to  return  value  for.  Thou- 
sands of  girls  have  been  made  sad  for  life  by  the  speeches 


AMONG    THE    HILLS.  117 

of  a  man  careful  all  the  time  to  say  nothing  that 
amounted  to  a  pledge !  I  do  not  forget  that  many  a 
woman  who  would  otherwise  have  been  worth  little,  has 
for  her  sorrow  found  such  consolation  that  she  has 
become  rich  before  God;  these  words  hold  neverthe- 
less :  "  It  must  needs  be  that  offences  come,  but  woe  to 
that  man  by  whom  the  offence  cometh ! " 

On  a  morning  two  days  later,  Christina  called  Mercy, 
rather  imperiously,  to  get  ready  at  once  for  their  usual 
walk.  She  obeyed,  and  they  set  out.  Christina  declared 
she  was  perishing  with  cold,  and  they  walked  fast.  By 
and  by  they  saw  on  the  road  before  them  the  two 
brothers  walking  slow;  one  was  reading,  the  other 
listening.  When  they  came  nearer  they  descried  in 
Alister's  hand  a  manuscript  volume ;  Ian  carried  an  old- 
fashioned  fowling-piece.  It  was  a  hard  frost,  which  was 
perhaps  the  cause  of  Alister's  leisure  so  early  in  the  day. 

Hearing  the  light  steps  of  the  girls  behind  them,  the 
men  turned.  The  laird  was  the  first  to  speak.  The 
plough  and  the  fierce  bulls  not  there  to  bewilder  their 
judgment,  the  young  women  immediately  discovered 
their  preception  in  the  matter  of  breeding  to  be  less 
infallible  than  they  had  imagined  it:  no  well-bred 
woman  could  for  a  moment  doubt  the  man  before 
them  as  a  gentleman  —  though  his  carriage  was  more 
courteous  and  more  natural  than  is  often  seen  in  a 
Mayf air  drawing-room,  and  his  English  a  little  old-fash- 
ioned. Ian  was  at  once  more  like  and  more  unlike 
other  people.  His  manner  was  equally  courteous,  but 
notably  stiff er ;  he  was  as  much  at  his  ease,  but  more 
reserved.  To  use  a  figure,  he  did  not  step  out  so  far  to 
meet  them.  They  walked  on  together. 

"  You  are  a  little  earlier  than  usual  this  morning, 
ladies ! "  remarked  the  chief. 


118  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"How  do  you  know  that,  Mr.  Macruadh!"  rejoined 
Christina. 

"  I  often  see  you  pass  —  and  till  now  always  at  the 
same  hour," 

"  And  yet  we  have  never  met  before  !  " 

"The  busy  and  the"  —  he  hesitated  a  moment  — 
"unbusy  seldom  meet,"  said  the  chief. 

"  Why  don't  you  say  the  idle?  "  suggested  Christina. 

"  Because  that  would  be  rude." 

"  Why  would  it  be  rude  ?  Most  people,  I  suppose, 
are  more  idle  than  busy ! " 

"  Idle  is  a  word  of  blame ;  I  had  no  right  to  use  it." 

"  I  should  have  taken  you  for  one  of  those  who 
always  speak  their  minds." 

"  I  hope  I  do  when  it  is  required,  and  I  have  any  to 
speak." 

"  You  prefer  judging  with  closed  doors !  " 

The  chief  was  silent:  he  did  not  understand  her. 
Did  she  want  him  to  say  he  did  not  think  them  idle  ? 
Or,  if  they  were,  that  they  were  quite  right? 

"  I  think  it  hard,"  resumed  Christina,  with  a  tone  of 
injury,  almost  of  suffering,  in  her  voice,  "  that  we  should 
be  friendly  and  open  with  people,  and  they  all  the  time 
thinking  of  us  in  a  way  it  would  be  rude  to  tell  us !  It 
is  enough  to  make  one  vow  never  to  speak  to  —  to  any- 
body again ! " 

Alister  turned  and  looked  at  her.  What  could  she 
mean? 

"You  can't  think  it  hard,"  he  said,  "that  people 
should  not  tell  you  what  they  think  of  you  the  moment 
they  first  see  you ! " 

"  They  might  at  least  tell  us  what  they  mean  by  call- 
ing us  idle ! " 

"  I  said  not  busy? 


AMONG   THE    HILLS.  119 

"Is  every  body  to  blame  that  is  idle?"  persisted 
Christina. 

"  Perhaps  my  brother  will  answer  you  that  question," 
said  Alister. 

"If  my  brother  and  I  tell  you  honestly  what  we 
thought  of  you  when  first  we  saw  you,"  said  Ian,  "  will 
you  tell  us  honestly  what  you  thought  of  us?" 

The  girls  cast  an  involuntary  glance  at  each  other, 
and  when  their  eyes  met,  could  not  keep  them  from 
looking  conscious.  A  twitching  also  at  the  corners  of 
Mercy's  mouth,  showed  they  had  been  saying  more  than 
they  would  care  to  be  cross-questioned  upon. 

"  Ah,  you  betray  yourselves,  ladies ! "  Ian  said.  "  It 
is  all  very  well  to  challenge  us,  but  you  are  not  prepared 
to  lead  the  way !  " 

"  Girls  are  never  allowed  to  lead ! "  said  Christina. 
"The  men  are  down  on  them  the  moment  they  dare!" 

"I  am  not  that  way  inclined,"  answered  Ian.  "If 
man  or  woman  lead  to  anything,  success  will  justify  the 
leader.  —  I  will  propose  another  thing ! " 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Christina. 

"  To  agree  that,  when  we  are  about  to  part,  with  no 
probability  of  meeting  again  in  this  world,  we  shall 
speak  out  plainly  what  we  think  of  each  other ! " 

"But  that  will  be  such  a  time ! "  said  Christina. 

"  In  a  world  that  turns  quite  round  every  twenty- 
four  hours,  it  may  be  a  very  short  time  ! " 

"We  shall  be  coming  every  summer,  though  I  hope 
not  to  stay  through  another  winter ! " 

"  Changes  come  when  they  are  least  expected  ! " 

"We  cannot  know,"  said  Alister,  "that  we  shall 
never  meet  again  ! " 

"  There  the  probability  will  be  enough." 

"  But  how  can  we  come  to  a  better  —  I  mean  &  fairer 


120  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

opinion  of  each  other,  when  we  meet  so  seldom  ? " 
asked  Mercy  innocently. 

"  This  is  only  the  second  time  we  have  met,  and  al- 
ready we  are  not  quite  strangers!  "»said  Christina. 

"  On  the  other  hand,"  said  Alister,  "  we  have  been 
within  call  for  more  than  two  months,  and  this  is  our 
second  meeting ! " 

"  Well,  who  has  not  called"?  "  said  Christina, 

The  young  men  were  silent.  They  did  not  care  to 
discuss  the  question  as  to  which  mother  was  to  blame 
in  the  matter.  They  were  now  in  the  bottom  of  the 
valley,  had  left  the  road,  and  were  going  up  the  side  of 
the  burn,  often  in  single  file,  Alister  leading,  and  Ian 
bringing  up  the  rear,  for  the  valley  was  thickly  strewn 
with  lumps  of  gray  rock,  of  all  shapes  and  sizes.  They 
seemed  to  have  rolled  down  the  hill  on  the  other  side  of 
the  burn,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  their  origin  :  the  hill 
was  covered  with  grass  below,  and  with  heather  above. 
Such  was  the  winding  of  the  way  among  the  stones  — 
for  path  there  was  none  —  that  again  and  again  no  one 
of  them  could  see  another.  The  girls  felt  the  strange- 
ness of  it,  and  began  to  experience,  without  knowing 
it,  a  little  of  the  power  of  solitary  places. 

After  walking  thus  for  some  distance,  they  found 
their  leader  halted. 

"Here  we  have  to  cross  the  burn,"  he  said,  "and  go 
a  long  way  up  the  other  side." 

"  You  want  to  be  rid  of  us  !  "   said  ChrHina. 

"By  no  means,"  replied  Alister.  "  We  are  delighted 
to  have  you  with  us.  But  we  must  not  let  you  get 
tired  before  turning  to  go  back." 

"  If  you  really  do  not  mind,  we  should  like  to  go  a 
good  deal  farther.  I  want  to  see  round  the  turn  there, 
where  another  hill  comes  from  behind  and  closes  up  the 


AMONG    THE    HILLS.  121 

view.  We  haven't  anybody  to  go  with  us,  and  have 
seen  nothing  of  the  country.  The  men  won't  take  us 
shooting ;  and  mamma  is  always  so  afraid  we  lose  our- 
selves, or  fall  down  a  few  precipices,  or  get  into  a  bog, 
or  be  eaten  by  wild  beasts  !  " 

"  If  this  frost  last,  we  shall  have  time  to  show  you 
something  of  it.  I  see  you  can  walk  !  " 

"  We  can  walk  well  enough,  and  should  so  like  to  get 
to  the  top  of  a  mountain  ! " 

"  For  the  crossing  then !  "  said  Alister,  and  turning 
to  the  burn,  jumped  and  re  jumped  it,  as  if  to  let  them 
see  how  to  do  it. 

The  bed  of  the  stream  was  at  the  spot  narrowed  by 
two  rocks,  so  that,  though  there  was  little  of  it,  the 
water  went  through  with  a  roar,  and  a  force  to  take  a 
man  off  his  legs.  It  was  too  wide  for  the  ladies,  and 
they  stood  eying  it  wTith  dismay,  fearing  an  end  to 
their  walk  and  the  pleasant  companionship. 

"  Do  not  be  frightened,  ladies,"  said  Alister  ;  "  it  is 
not  too  wide  for  you." 

"  You  have  the  advantage  of  us  in  your  dress ! "  said 
Christina. 

"  I  will  get  you  over  quite  safe,"  returned  the  chief. 

Christina  looked  as  if  she  could  not  trust  herself  to 
him. 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Mercy. 

"Jump  high,"  answered  Alister,  as  he  sprang  again 
to  the  other  side,  and  held  out  his  hand  across  the 
chasm 

"  I  can  neither  jump  high  nor  far  !  "  said  Mercy. 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry.  I  will  take  you  —  no,  not  by 
the  hand  ;  that  might  slip  —  but  by  the  wrist.  Do  not 
think  how  far  you  can  jump ;  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
jump.  Only  jump  as  high  as  you  can." 


122  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

Mercy  could  not  help  feeling  frightened  —  the  water 
rushed  so  fast  and  loud  below. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  can  get  me  over  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  Then  I  will  jump." 

She  sprang,  and  Alister,  with  a  strong  pull  on  her 
arm,  landed  her  easily. 

"  It  is  your  turn  now,"  he  said,  addressing  Christina. 

She  was  rather  white,  but  tried  to  laugh. 

« I—  I  —  I  don't  think  I  can  !  "  she  said. 

"  It  is  really  nothing,"  persuaded  the  chief. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  be  a  coward,  but  I  fear  I  was  born 
one." 

"  Some  feelings  nobody  can  help,"  said  Ian,  "but  no- 
body need  give  way  to  them.  One  of  the  bravest  men 
I  ever  knew  would  always  start  aside  if  the  meanest 
little  cur  in  the  street  came  barking  at  him  ;  and  yet  on 
one  occasion,  when  the  people  were  running  in  all  direc- 
tions, he  took  a  mad  dog  by  the  throat,  and  held  him. 
Come,  Alister !  you  take  her  by  one  arm  and  I  will  take 
her  by  the  other." 

The  chief  sprang  to  her  side,  and  the  moment  she 
felt  the  grasp  of  the  two  men,  she  had  the  needful 
courage.  The  three  jumped  together,  and  were  pres- 
ently walking  merrily  along  the  other  bank,  over  the 
same  kind  of  ground,  and  in  the  same  order — Ian 
bringing  up  the  rear. 

The  ladies  were  startled  by  a  gun  going  off  close 
behind  them. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Ian,  "  but  I  could  not  let 
the  rascal  go." 

"  What  have  you  killed  ?  "   asked  his  brother. 

"  Only  one  of  my  own  family  —  a  red-haired  fellow  !  " 
answered  Ian,  leaving  the  path,  and  going  up  the  hill. 


AMONG    THE    HILLS.  123 


The  girls  looked,  but  saw  nothing,  and  following  him 
a  few  yards,  came  to  him  behind  a  stone. 

"  Goodness  gracious !  "  exclaimed  Christina,  with 
horror  in  her  tone,  "  it's  a  fox  !  —  Is  it  possible  you  have 
shot  a  fox  ?  " 

The  men  laughed. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  asked  Alister,  as  if  he  had  no  idea 
what  she  could  mean.  "  Is  the  fox  a  sacred  animal  in 
the  south  ?  " 

"  It's  worse  than  poaching  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Hardly  !  "  returned  Alister.  "  No  doubt  you  may 
get  a  good  deal  of  fun  out  of  Reynard,  but  you  can't 
make  game  of  him !  Why  —  you  look  as  if  you  had 
lost  a  friend  !  I  admire  his  intellect,  but  we  can't 
afford  to  feed  it  on  chickens  and  lambs." 

"  But  to  shoot  him  !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  We  do  not  respect  him  here.  He  is  a 
rascal,  to  be  sure,  but  then  he  has  no  money,  and  con- 
sequently no  friends !  " 

"  He  has  many  friends  !  What  would  Christian  or 
Mr.  Sercombe  say  to  shooting,  actually  shooting  a  fox !  " 

"  You  treat  him  as  if  he  were  red  gold !  "  said  the 
chief.  "  We  build  temples  neither  to  Reynard  nor 
Mammon  here.  In  the  south  they  seem  to  worship 
both !  " 

"  Oh,  no,  they  don't !  "  said  Mercy.  "  That  is  only 
what  poor  people  say  !  " 

"  Do  they  not  respect  the  rich  man  because  he  is  rich, 
and  look  down  on  the  poor  man  because  he  is  poor  ?  " 
said  Ian.  "  Though  the  rich  man  be  a  wretch,  they 
think  him  grand ;  though  the  poor  man  be  like  Jesus 
Christ,  they  pity  him !  " 

"  And  shouldn't  the  poor  be  pitied  ?  "  said  Christina. 

"  Not  except  they  need  pity." 


124  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Is  it  not  pitiable  to  be  poor  ?  " 

"  By  no  means.  It  is  pitiable  to  be  wretched  —  and 
that,  I  venture  to  suspect,  the  rich  are  oftener  than  the 
poor.  —  But  as  to  master  Reynard  there  —  instead  of 
shooting  him,  what  would  you  have  had  us  do  with 
him?" 

"  Hunt  him,  to  be  sure." 

"  Would  he  like  that  better?  " 

"What  he  would  lite  is  not  the  question.  The  sport 
is  the  thing." 

"  That  will  show  you  why  he  is  not  sacred  here  :  we 
do  not  hunt  him.  It  would  be  impossible  to  hunt  this 
country  ;  you  could  not  ride  the  ground.  Besides,  there 
are  such  multitudes  of  holes,  the  hounds  would  scarcely 
have  a  chance.  No ;  the  only  dog  to  send  after  the 
fellow  is  a  leaden  one." 

"  There's  another !  "  exclaimed  the  chief  —  "  there  ! 
sneaking  away !  —  and  your  gun  not  loaded,  Ian !  " 

"  I'm  so  glad ! "  said  Christina.  "  He  at  least  will 
escape  you  ! " 

"  And  some  poor  lamb  in  the  spring  won't  escape 
him  ! "  returned  Alister. 

"  Lambs  are  meant  to  be  eaten ! "  said  Christina. 

"  Yes ;  but  a  lamb  might  think  it  hard  to  feed  such 
a  creature ! " 

"  If  the  fox  is  of  no  good  in  the  world,"  said  Mercy, 
"why  was  he  made?" 

"  He  can't  be  of  no  good,"  answered  the  chief. 
"  What  if  some  things  are,  just  that  we  may  get  rid  of 
them?" 

"  Could  they  be  made  just  to  be  got  rid  of?" 

"I  said  —  that  we  might  get  rid  of  them:  there  is 
all  the  difference  in  that.  The  very  first  thing  men  had 
to  do  in  the  world  was  to  fight  beasts." 


AMONG    THE    HILLS.  125 

"  I  think  I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Mercy :  "  if 
there  had  been  no  wild  beasts  to  fight  with,  men  would 
never  have  grown  able  for  much !  " 

"  That  is  it,"  said  Alister.  "  They  were  awful  beasts ! 
and  they  had  poor  weapons  to  fight  them  with  —  neither 
guns  nor  knives  !  " 

"  And  who  knows,"  suggested  Ian,  "  what  good  it 
may  be  to  the  fox  himself  to  make  the  best  of  a  greedy 
life  ?  " 

"  But  what  is  the  good  to  us  of  talking  about  such 
things  ?  "  said  Christina.  "  They're  not  interesting !  " 

The  remark  silenced  the  brothers :  where  indeed 
could  be  use  without  interest  ? 

But  Mercy,  though  she  could  hardly  have  said  she 
found  the  conversation  very  interesting,  felt  there  was 
something  in  the  men  that  cared  to  talk  about  such 
things,  that  must  be  interesting  if  she  could  only  get  at 
it.  They  were  not  like  any  other  men  she  had  met ! 

Christina's  whole  interest  in  men  was  the  admiration 
she  looked  for  and  was  sure  of  receiving  from  them; 
Mercy  had  hitherto  found  their  company  stupid. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    LAKE. 

SILENCE  lasted  until  they  reached  the  shoulder  of 
the  hill  that  closed  the  view  up  the  valley.  As 
they  rounded  it,  the  sun  went  behind  a  cloud,  and  a 
chill  wind,  as  if  from  a  land  where  dwelt  no  life,  met 
them.  The  hills  stood  back,  and  they  w^ere  on  the 
shore  of  a  small  lake,  out  of  which  ran  the  burn.  They 
were  very  desolate-looking  hills,  with  little  heather,  and 
that  bloomless,  to  hide  their  hard  gray  bones.  Their 
heads  were  mostly  white  with  frost  and  snow;  their 
,  shapes  had  little  beauty;  they  looked  worn  and  hope- 
less, ugly  and  sad — and  so  cold!  The  water  below 
was  slaty  gray,  in  response  to  the  gray  sky  above ; 
there  seemed  no  life  in  either.  The  hearts  of  the  girls 
sank  within  them,  and  all  at  once  they  felt  tired.  In 
the  air  was  just  one  sign  of  life:  high  above  the  lake 
wheeled  a  large  fish-hawk. 

"  Look  !  "  said  Alister  pointing ;  "  there  is  the  os- 
prey  that  lives  here  with  his  wife  !  He  is  just  going  to 
catch  a  fish  !  " 

He  had  hardly  spoken  when  the  bird  shot  into  the 
water,  making  it  foam  up  all  about.  He  reappeared 
with  a  fish  in  his  claws,  and  flew  off  to  find  his  mate. 

"  Do  you  know  the  very  bird  ?  "  asked  Mercy. 

"  I  know  him  well.  He  and  his  wife  have  built  on 
that  conical  rock  you  see  there  in  the  middle  of  the 
water  many  years." 

126 


THE    LAKE.  127 


"  Why  have  you  never  shot  him  ?  He  would  look 
well  stuffed !  "  said  Christina. 

She  little  knew  the  effect  of  her  words  ;  the  chief  re- 
strained his.  He  hated  causeless  killing ;  and  to  hear  a 
lady  talk  of  shooting  a  high-soaring  creature  of  the  air 
as  coolly  as  of  putting  on  her  gloves,  was  nauseous 
to  him.  Ian  gave  him  praise  afterwards  for  his  unusual 
self-restraint.  But  it  was  a  moment  or  two  ere  he  had 
himself  in  hand. 

"Do  you  not  think  he  looks  much  better  going  about 
God's  business  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Perhaps ;  but  he  is  not  yours ;  you  have  not  got 
him!" 

"  Why  should  I  have  him  ?  He  seems,  indeed,  the 
more  mine  the  higher  he  goes.  A  dead  stuffed  thing  — 
how  could  that  be  mine  at  all?  Alive,  he  seems  to  soar 
in  the  very  heaven  of  my  soul ! " 

"  You  showed  the  fox  no  such  pity ! "  remarked 
Mercy. 

"  At  least  I  did  not  kill  the  fox  to  have  him  ! "  an- 
swered Alister.  "  The  osprey  does  no  harm.  He  eats 
only  fish,  and  they  are  very  plentiful ;  he  never  kills 
birds  or  hares,  or  any  creature  on  the  land.  I  do  not 
see  how  anyone  could  wish  to  kill  the  bird,  except  from 
mere  love  of  destruction  !  Why  should  I  make  a  life 
less  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  There  would  be  more  lives  of  fish  —  would  there 
not?"  said  Mercy.  "I  don't  want  you  to  shoot  the 
poor  bird ;  I  only  want  to  hear  your  argument ! " 

The  chief  could  not  immediately  reply.  Ian  came  to 
his  rescue. 

"  There  are  qualities  in  life,"  he  said.  "  One  cannot, 
think  the  fish-life  so  fine,  so  full  of  delight  as  the  bird- 
life!" 


128  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  No.  But,"  said  Mercy,  "  have  the  fishes  not  as 
good  a  right  to  their  life  as  the  birds  ?  " « 

"  Both  have  the  right  given  them  by  the  maker  of 
them.  The  osprey  was  made  to  eat  the  fish,  and  the 
fish,  I  hope,  get  some  good  of  being  eaten  by  the  osprey." 

"  Excuse  me,  Captain  Macruadh,  but  that  seems  to 
me  simple  nonsense !  "  said  Christina. 

"  I  hope  it  is  true." 

"  I  don't  know  about  being  true,  but  it  must  be  non- 
sense." 

"  It  must  seem  so  to  most  people." 

"  Then  why  do  you  say  it  ?  " 

"  Because  I  hope  it  is  true." 

"  Why  should  you  wish  nonsense  to  be  true  ?  " 

"  What  is  true  cannot  be  nonsense.  It  looks  non- 
sense only  to  those  that  take  no  interest  in  the  matter. 
Would  it  be  nonsense  to  the  fishes?  " 

"  It  does  seem  hard,"  said  Mercy,  "  that  the  poor 
harmless  things  should  be  gobbled  up  by  a  creature 
pouncing  down  upon  them  from  another  element ! " 

"  As  the  poor  are  gobbled  up  everywhere  by  the  rich ! " 

"  I  don't  believe  that.  The  rich  are  very  kind  to  the 
poor." 

"  I  beg  you  pardon,"  said  Ian,  "  but  if  you  know  no 
more  about  the  rich  than  you  do  about  the  fish,  I  can 
hardly  take  your  testimony.  The  fish  are  the  most  car- 
nivorous creatures  in  the  world." 

"  Do  they  eat  each  other?  " 

"  Hardly  that.  Only  the  cats  of  Kilkenny  can  do 
that." 

"  I  used  a  common  phrase  ! " 

"  You  did,  and  I  am  rude  :  the  phrase  must  bear  the 
blame  for  both  of  us.  But  the  fish  are  even  canni- 
bals —  eating  the  young  of  their  own  species !  They 


THE    LAKE.  129 


are  the  most  destructive  of  creatures  to  other  lives." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mercy,  "  to  make  one  kind  of 
creature  live  on  another  kind,  is  the  way  to  get  the 
greatest  good  for  the  greatest  number !  " 

"  That  doctrine,  which  seems  to  content  most  people, 
appears  to  me  a  poverty-stricken  and  selfish  one.  I  can 
admit  nothing  but  the  greatest  good  to  every  individual 
creature." 

"  Don't  you  think  we  had  better  be  going,  Mercy  ? 
It  has  got  quite  cold ;  I  am  afraid  it  will  rain,"  said 
Christina,  drawing  her  cloak  round  her  with  a  little 
shiver. 

"  I  am  ready,"  answered  Mercy. 

The  brothers  looked  at  each  other.  They  had  come 
out  to  spend  the  day  together,  but  they  could  not  leave 
the  ladies  to  go  home  alone  ;  having  brought  them 
across  the  burn,  they  were  bound  to  see  them  over  it 
again  !  An  imperceptible  sign  passed  between  them, 
and  Alister  turned  to  the  girls. 

"  Come  then,"  he  said  ;  "  we  will  go  back !  " 

"  But  you  were  not  going  home  yet  ?  "  said  Mercy. 

"  Would  you  have  us  leave  you  in  this  wild  place  ! " 

"  We  shall  find  our  way  well  enough.  The  burn  will 
guide  us." 

"  Yes ;  but  it  will  not  jump  over  you ;  it  will  leave 
you  to  jump  over  it !  " 

"  I  forgot  the  burn !  "  said  Christina. 

"  Which  way  were  you  going  ?  "  asked  Mercy,  look- 
ing all  around  for  road  or  pathway  over  the  encircling 
upheaved  wildernesses. 

"  This  way,"  answered  Ian.     "  Good-by  !  " 

"  Then  you  are  not  coming  ?  " 

"  No.     My  brother  will  take  care  of  you." 

He  went   straight   as  an  arrow  up  the  hill.     They 


130  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

stood  and  watched  him  go.  At  what  seemed  the  top, 
he  turned,  and  waved  his  cap,  then  vanished. 

Christina  felt  disappointed.  She  did  not  much  care 
for  either  of  the  very  peculiar  young  men,  but  any 
company  was  better  than  none  ;  a  man  was  better  than 
a  woman ;  and  two  men  were  better  than  one !  If 
these  were  not  equal  to  admiring  her  as  she  deserved, 
what  more  remunerative  labor  than  teaching  them  to 
do  so? 

The  thing  that  chiefly  disappointed  her  in  them  was, 
that  they  had  so  little  small  talk.  It  was  so  stupid  to 
be  always  speaking  sense  !  always  polite  !  always  cour- 
teous !  —  "  Two  sir  Charles  Grandisons,"  she  said,  "  are 
two  too  many ! "  And  indeed  the  History  of  Sir 
Charles  Grandison  had  its  place  in  the  small  library  free 
to  them  from  childhood ;  but  Christina  knew  nothing 
of  him  except  by  hearsay. 

The  young  men  had  been  brought  up  in  a  solemn 
school  —  had  learned  to  take  life  as  a  serious  and  lovely 
and  imperative  thing.  Not  the  less,  upon  occasions  of 
merry-making,  would  they  frolic  like  young  colts  even 
yet,  and  that  without  the  least  reaction  or  sense  of  folly 
afterwards.  At  the  same  time,  although  in  the  village, 

'CD  c?      / 

Ian  from  childhood  had  the  character,  especially  in  the 
workshops  of  the  carpenter,  weaver,  and  shoemaker,  of 
being  full  of  humor,  he  was  in  himself  always  rather 
sad,  being  perplexed  with  many  things :  his  humor  was 
but  the  foam  of  his  troubled  sea. 

Christina  was  annoyed  besides  that  Mercy  seemed 
not  indifferent  to  the  opinion  of  the  men.  It  was  from 
pure  inexperience  of  the  man-world,  she  said  to  herself, 
that  the  silly  child  could  see  anything  interesting  in 
them !  Gentlemen  she  must  allow  them  —  but  of  such 
an  old-fashioned  type  as  to  be  gentlemen  but  by  cour- 


THE    LAKE.  131 


tesy  —  not  gentlemen  in  the  world's  count !  She  was 
of  the  world  :  they  of  the  north  of  Scotland !  All  day 
Mercy  had  been  on  their  side  and  against  her !  It 
might  be  from  sheer  perversity,  but  she  had  never  been 
like  that  before !  She  must  take  care  she  did  not  make 
a  fool  of  herself  !  It  might  end  in  some  unhappiness  to 
the  young  goose !  Assuredly  neither  father  nor  mother 
would  countenance  the  thing  !  She  must  throw  herself 
into  the  breach !  Which  was  she  taking  a  fancy  to  ? 

She  was  not  so  anxious  about  her  sister,  however,  as 
piqued  that  she  had  not  herself  gathered  one  expression 
of  homage,  surprised  one  look  of  admiration,  seen  one 
sign  of  incipient  worship  in  either.  Of  the  two  she 
liked  better  the  ploughman  !  The  other  was  more  a 
man  of  the  world  —  but  he  was  not  of  her  world ! 
With  him  she  was  a  stranger  in  a  very  strange  land ! 

Christina's  world  was  a  very  small  one,  and  in  its 
temple  her  own  image  stood.  Ian  belonged  to  the  uni- 
verse. He  was  a  gentleman  of  the  high  court.  Where- 
ever  he  might  go  throughout  God's  worlds,  he  would 
be  at  home.  How  could  there  be  much  attraction  be- 
tween Christina  and  him  ? 

Alister  was  more  talkative  on  the  way  back  than  he 
had  been  all  day.  Christina  thought  the  change  caused 
by  having  them,  or  rather  her,  to  himself  alone  ;  but  in 
reality  it  sprang  from  the  prospect  of  soon  rejoining  his 
brother  without  them.  Some  of  the  things  he  said, 
Mercy  found  well  worth  hearing ;  and  an  old  Scotch 
ballad  which  he  repeated,  having  learned  it  of  a  low- 
land nurse,  appeared  to  her  as  beautiful  as  it  was  wild 
and  strange.  For  Christina,  she  despised  the  Scotch 
language:  it  was  vulgar!  Had  Alister  informed  her 
that  Beowulf,  "  the  most  important  of  all  the  relics  of 
the  Pagan  Anglo-Saxon,  is  written  in  undeniable  Scotch, 


132  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

the  English  of  the  period,"  it  would  have  made  no  dif- 
ference to  Christina  !  Why  should  it  ?  She  had  never 
yet  cared  for  any  book  beyond  the  novels  of  a  certain 
lady  which,  to  speak  with  due  restraint,  do  not  tend  to 
profitable  thought.  At  the"  same  time,  it  was  not  for 
the  worst  in  them  that  she  liked  them  ;  she  did  not  un- 
derstand them  well  enough  to  see  it.  But  there  was 
ground  to  fear  that,  when  she  came  to  understand, 
shocked  at  first,  she  would  speedily  get  accustomed  to 
it,  and  at  length  like  them  all  the  better  for  it. 

In  Mercy's  unawakened  soul,  echoed  now  and  then  a 
faint  thrill  of  response  to  some  of  the  things  Alister 
said,  and,  oftener,  to  some  of  the  verses  he  repeated, 
and  she  would  look  up  at  him  when  he  was  silent,  with 
an  unconscious  seeking  glance,  as  if  dimly  aware  of  a 
beneficent  presence.  Alister  was  drawn  by  the  honest 
gaze  of  her  yet  undeveloped  and  homely  countenance, 
with  its  child-look  in  process  of  sublimation,  whence 
the  woman  would  glance  out  and  vanish  again,  leaving 
the  child  to  give  disappointing  answers.  There  was 
something  in  it  of  the  look  a  dog  casts  up  out  of  his 
bhautiful  brown  eyes  into  the  mystery  of  his  master's 
countenance.  She  was  on  the  edge  of  coming  awake 
all  was  darkness  about  her,  but  something  was  pulling 
at  her  !  She  had  never  known  before  that  a  lady  might 
be  lovely  in  a  ballad  as  well  as  in  a  beautiful  gown ! 

Finding  himself  so  listened  to,  though  the  listener 
was  little  more  than  a  child,  the  heart  of  the  chief 
began  to  swell  in  his  great  bosom.  Like  a  child  he  was 
pleased.  The  gray  day  about  him  grew  sweet ;  its  very 
grayness  was  sweet,  and  of  a  silvery  sheen.  When  they 
arrived  at  the  burn,  and,  easily  enough  from  that  side, 
he  had  handed  them  across,  he  was  not  quite  so  glad  to 
turn  from  them  as  he  had  expected  to  be. 


THE    LAKE.  133 


"  Are  you  going  ?  "  said  Christina  with  genuine  sur- 
prise, for  she  had  not  understood  his  intention. 

"  The  way  is  easy  now,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  sorry 
to  leave  you,  but  I  have  to  join  Ian,  and  the  twilight 
will  be  flickering  down  before  I  reach  the  place. " 

"  And  there  will  be  no  moon !  "  said  Mercy  :  "  how 
will  you  get  home  through  the  darkness !  " 

"  We  do  not  mean  to  come  home  to-night." 

"  Oh,  then,  you  are  going  to  friends !  " 

"No  ;  we  shall  be  with  each  other  —  not  a  soul  be- 
sides." 

"  There  can't  surely  be  a  hotel  up  there  ?  " 

Alister  laughed,  as  he  answered : 

"  There  are  more  ways  than  one  of  spending  a  night 
on  the  hills.  If  you  look  from  a  window  —  in  that  di- 
rection," he  said,  pointing,  "  the  last  thing  before  you 
go  to  bed,  you  will  see  that  at  least  we  shall  not  perish 
with  cold." 

He  sprang  again  over  the  burn,  and  with  a  wave  of 
his  bonnet,  went,  like  Ian,  straight  up  the  hill. 

The  girls  stood  for  some  time  watching  him  climb  as 
if  he  had  been  going  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  until  he  stood 
clear  against  the  sky,  when,  with  another  wave  of  his 
bonnet,  he  too  disappeared. 

Mercy  did  not  forget  to  look  from  her  window  in  the 
direction  Alister  had  indicated.  There  was  no  room 
to  mistake  what  he  meant,  for  through  the  dark  ran  a 
great  opening  to  the  side  of  a  hill  somewhere  in  the 
night,  where  glowed  and  flamed,  reddening  the  air,  a 
huge  crescent  of  fire,  slowly  climbing,  like  a  column  of 
attack,  up  towards  the  invisible  crest. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  Why 
do  they  make  such  a  bonfire  —  with  nobody  but  them- 
selves to  enjoy  it?  What  strange  men  —  out  by  them- 


134  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

selves  in  the  dark  night,  on  the  cold  hill !  What  can 
they  be  doing  it  for  ?  I  hope  they  have  something  to 
eat!  I  should  like  to  hear  them  talk!  I  wonder  what 
they  are  saying  about  us !  I  am  certain  we  bored 
them ! " 

The  brothers  did  speak  of  them,  and  readily  agreed 
in  some  notion  of  their  characters ;  but  they  soon 
turned  to  other  things,  —  and  there  passed  a  good  deal 
that  Mercy  could  not  have  followed.  What  would  she, 
for  instance,  have  made  of  Alister's  challenge  to  his 
brother  to  explain  the  metaphysical  necessity  for  the 
sine,  tangent,  and  secant  of  an  angle  belonging  to  its 
supplement  as  well? 

When  the  ladies  overtook  them  in  the  morning, 
Alister  was  reading  from  an  old  manuscript  volume  of 
his  brother's,  which  he  had  found  in  a  chest  —  a  certain 
very  early  attempt  at  humor,  and  now  they  disputed 
concerning  it  as  they  watched  the  fire.  It  had  abun- 
dance of  faults,  and  in  especial  lacked  suture,  but  will 
serve  to  show  something  of  lan's  youthful  ingenium. 

TO  A  VAGRANT. 

Gentle  vagrant,  stumping  over 
Several  verdant  fields  of  clover  ! 
•  Subject  of  unnumbered  knockings, 

Tattered  coat  and  ragged  stockings, 
Slouching  hat  and  roving  eye, 
Tell  of  settled  vagrancy  ! 

Wretched  wanderer,  can  it  be 
The  poor  laws  have  leaguered  thee  ? 
Hear'st  thou,  in  thy  thorny  den, 
Tramp  of  rural  policemen, 
Only  fancying,  in  thy  rear 
Coats  of  blue  and  buttons  clear, 
While  to  meet  thee,  in  the  van 
Stalks  some  vengeful  alderman  ?  — 
Each  separate  sense  bringing  a  notion 


THE    LAKE.  135 


Of  forms  that  teach  thee  locomotion  ! 

Beat  and  battered  altogether, 
By  fellow-men,  by  wind  and  weather  ; 
Hounded  on  through  fens  and  bogs, 
Chased  by  men  and  bit  by  dogs: 
And,  in  thy  weakly  way  of  judging, 
So  kindly  taught  the  art  of  trudging  ; 
Or,  with  a  moment's  happier  lot, 
Pitied,  pensioned,  and  forgot  — 
Cutty-pipe  thy  reyium  donum  ; 
Poverty  thy  summum  bonum ; 
Thy  frigid  couch  a  sandstone  stratum  ; 
A  colder  grave  thy  ultimatum  ; 
Circumventing,  circumvented  ; 
In  short,  excessively  tormented, 
Everything  combines  to  scare 
Charity's  dear  pensioner  ! 

—  Say,  vagrant,  can'st  thou  grant  to  me 
A  slice  of  thy  philosophy  ? 

Haply,  in  thy  many  trudgings, 
Having  found  unchallenged  lodgings, 
Thy  thoughts,  unused  to  saddle-crupper, 
Ambling  no  farther  than  thy  supper  — 
Thou,  by  the  light  of  heaven-lit  taper, 
Mendest  thy  prospective  paper  ! 
Then,  jolly  pauper,  stitch  till  day; 
Let  not  thy  roses  drop  away, 
Lest,  begrimed  with  muddy  matter, 
Thy  body  peep  from  every  tatter, 
And  men  —  a  charitable  dose  — 
Should  physic  thee  with  food  and  clothes  I 

Nursling  of  adversity  ! 
'Tis  thy  glory  thus  to  be 
Sinking  fund  of  raggery  ! 
Thus  to  scrape  a  nation's  dishes, 
And  fatten  on  a  few  good  wishes  ! 
Or,  on  some  venial  treason  bent, 
Frame  thyself  a  government, 
For  thy  crest  a  brimless  hat, 
Poverty's  aristocrat  ! 

Nonne  haleam  te  tristem, 
Planet  of  the  human  system  ? 
Comet  lank  and  melancholic 

—  Or  bit  shocking  parabolic  — 


136  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 


Seen  for  a  little  in  the  sky 
Of  th'e  world  of  sympathy  — 
Seldom  failing  when  predicted, 
Coming  most  when  most  restricted, 
Dragging  a  nebulous  tail  with  thee 
Of  hypothetic  vagrancy  — 
Of  vagrants  large,  and  vagrants  small, 
Vagrants  scarce  visible  at  all ! 

Matchless  oracle  of  woe  ! 
Anarchy  in  embryo  ! 
Strange  antipodes  of  bliss  ! 
Parody  on  happiness  ! 
Raghouse  of  the  great  creation  ! 
Subject  meet  for  strangulation, 
By  practice  tutored  to  condense 
The  cautious  inquiry  for  pence, 
And  skilful,  with  averted  eye, 
To  hide  thy  latent  roguery  — 
Lo,  on  thy  hopes  I  clap  a  stopper  ! 
Vagrant,  thou  shalt  have  no  copper  I 
Gather  thy  stumps,  and  get  thee  hence, 
Unwise  solicitor  of  pence  ! 

Alister,  who  all  but  worshipped  Ian,  and  cherished 
every  scrap  from  his  pen,  had  not  until  quite  lately 
seen  this  foolish  production,  as  Ian  counted  it,  and  was 
delighted  with  it,  as  he  would  have  been  had  it  been 
much  worse.  Ian  was  vexed  that  he  should  like  it,  and 
now  spent  the  greater  part  of  an  hour  trying  to  show 
him  how  very  bad  in  parts,  even  senseless  it  was.  Pro- 
fusion of  epithets  without  applicability,  want  of  conti- 
nuity, purposelessness,  silliness,  heartlessness — were  but 
a  few  of  his  denunciations.  Alister  argued  it  was  but  a  bit 
of  fun,  and  that  anybody  that  knew  Ian  knew  perfectly 
he  would  never  amuse  himself  with  a  fellow  without 
giving  him  something,  but  it  was  in  vain ;  Ian  was  bent 
on  showing  it  altogether  unworthy.  So,  not  to  waste 
the  night,  they  dropped  the  dispute,  and  by  the  light 
of  the  blazing  heather,  turned  to  a  chapter  of  Boethius. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    WOLVES. 

MY  readers  may  remember  that  Ian  was  on  the 
point  of  acquainting  his  mother  with  an  -impor- 
tant event  in  his  spiritual  history,  when  they  were  in- 
terrupted by  the  involuntary  call  of  the  girls  from  the 
New  House.  The  mother,  as  will  readily  be  believed, 
remained  desirous  of  listening  to  her  son's  story,  though 
dreading  it  would  not  be  of  a  kind  to  give  her  much 
satisfaction  ;  but  partly  from  preventions  —  favored,  it 
must  be  confessed,  by  Ian,  and  yet  more  from  direct 
avoidance  on  his  part,  the  days  passed  without  her  hear- 
ing anything  more  of  it.  Ian  had  in  truth  almost  re- 
pented his  offer  of  the  narrative :  a  certain  vague  as- 
surance that  it  would  not  be  satisfactory  to  her,  had 
grown  upon  him  until  he  felt  it  unkind  to  lay  before 
her  an  experience  whose  narration  would  seem  to  ask 
a  sympathy  she  could  not  give.  But  the  mother  was 
unable  to  let  the  thing  rest.  More  than  by  interest  she 
was  urged  by  anxiety.  In  spite  of  her  ungodlike  theo- 
ries of  God,  it  was  impossible  she  could  be  in  despair 
about  her  noble  Ian ;  still,  her  hope  was  at  best  founded 
on  the  uncovenanted  mercies  of  God,  not  on  the  se- 
curity of  his  bond  !  She  did  not  believe  that  God  was 
doing  and  would  do  his  best  for  every  man ;  therefore 
she  had  no  assurance  that  he  would  bring  down  the 
pride  of  Ian,  and  compel  his  acceptance  of  terms  worthy 
of  an  old  Roman  father,  half  law-circumventing  lawyer, 

137 


138  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

half  heartless  tyrant.  But  her  longing  to  hear  what 
her  son  had  proposed  telling  her,  was  chiefly  inspired 
by  the  hope  of  getting  nearer  to  him,  of  closer  sympathy 
becoming  possible  between  them  through  her  learning 
more  clearly  what  his  views  were.  She  constantly  felt 
as  if  walking  along  the  side  of  a  thick  hedge,  with  oc- 
casional thinnesses  through  which  now  and  then  she 
gained  a  ghostly  glimpse  of  her  heart's  treasure  gliding 
along  the  other  side  —  close  to  her,  yet  so  far  that,  when 
they  spoke,  they  seemed  calling  across  a  gulf  of  divid- 
ing darkness.  Therefore,  the  night  after  that  spent  by 
her  sons  on  the  hill,  all  having  retired  some  two  hours 
before,  the  mother,  finding  herself  unable  to  sleep,  rose 
as  she  had  often  done  ere  now,  and  stole  to  the  door 
of  the  little  room  under  the  thatch  where  Ian  lay. 
Listening,  and  judging  him  awake,  she  went  softly  in, 
and  sat  down  by  his  bedside. 

There  had  been  such  occasions  on  which,  though  son 
as  well  as  mother  was  wide  awake,  neither  spoke  a 
word  ;  but  this  time  the  mother  could  not  be  silent. 

"  You  never  told  me,  Ian,  the  story  you  began  about 
something  that  made  you  pray  !  " 

Ian  saw  he  could  not  now  draw  back  without  caus- 
ing her  more  trouble  than  would  the  narration. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  will  not  take  cold,  mother  dear  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  I  am  warmly  clad,  my  son ;  and  my  heart,  more 
than  I  can  tell  you,  is  longing  to  hear  all  about  it." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  find  my  story  so  interesting 
as  you  expect,  mother  !  " 

"  What  concerns  you  is  more  interesting  to  me  than 
anything  else  in  the  whole  world,  Ian." 

"Not  more  than  God,  mother?"  said  Ian. 

The  mother  was  silent.     She  was  as  honest  as  her 


THE    WOLVES.  139 


sons.  The  question,  dim-lucent,  showed  her,  if  but  in 
shadow,  something  of  the  truth  concerning  herself  — 
not  so  that  she  could  grasp  it,  for  she  saw  it  as  in  a 
glimmer,  a  fluctuating,  vanishing  flash — namely,  that 
she  cared  more  about  salvation  than  about  God  —  that, 
if  she  could  but  keep  her  boy  out  of  hell,  she  would  be 
content  to  live  on  without  any  nearer  approach  to  him 
in  whom  she  had  her  being !  God  was  to  her  an  awe, 
not  a  ceaseless,  growing  delight ! 

There  are  centuries  of  paganism  yet  in  many  lovely 
Christian  souls  —  paganism  so  deep,  therefore  so  little 
recognized,  that  their  earnest  endeavor  is  to  plant  that 
paganism  ineradicably  in  the  hearts  of  those  dearest  to 
them. 

As  she  did  not  answer,  Ian  was  afraid  she  was  hurt, 
and  thought  it  better  to  begin  his  story  at  once. 

"  It  was  one  night  in  the  middle  of  winter  —  last 
winter,  near  Moscow,"  he  began,  "and  the  frost  was 
very  bitter  —  the  worst  night  for  cold  I  have  ever  known. 
I  had  gone  with  a  companion  into  the  depth  of  a  great 
pine  forest.  On  our  way,  the  cold  grew  so  intense,  that 
we  took  refuge  at  a  little  public-house,  frequented  by 
peasants  and  persons  of  the  lowest  ranks.  On  entering 
I  saw  a  scene  which  surpassed  all  for  interest  I  had  ever 
before  witnessed.  The  little  lonely  house  was  crammed 
with  Russian  soldiers,  fierce-looking  fellows,  and  I  dare- 
say their  number  formed  our  protection  from  violence. 
Many  of  them  were  among  the  finest-looking  fellows  I 
have  ever  seen.  They  were  half  drunk,  and  were 
dancing  and  singing  with  the  wildest  gesticulations  and 
grimaces;  but  such  singing  for  strange  wildness  and 
harmony  combined  I  have  never  before  listened  to. 
One  would  keep  up  a  solo  for  some  minutes,  when  the 
whole  company  would  join  in  a  sort  of  chorus,  dancing 


140  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

frantically  about,  but  with  the  most  perfect  regularity 
of  movement.  One  of  them  came  up  to  me  and  with  a 
low  bow  begged  me  in  the  name  of  the  rest  to  give 
them  some  money.  I  accordingly  gave  them  a  silver 
ruble,  upon  which  the  whole  party  set  up  a  shout,  sur- 
rounded me,  and  in  a  moment  a  score  of  brawny  fellows 
had  lifted  me  in  the  air,  where  I  was  borne  along  in 
triumph.  I  took  off  my  cap  and  gave  three  hip-hip- 
hurrahs  as  loud  as  my  lungs  could  bawl,  whereupon, 
with  the  profoundest  expressions  of  gratitude,  I  was 
lowered  from  my  elevation.  One  of  them  then  who 
seemed  to  be  the  spokesman  of  the  rest,  seized  me  in 
his  arms  and  gave  me  a  hearty  kiss  on  the  cheek,  on 
which  I  took  my  departure  amid  universal  acclamation. 
—  But  all  that's  not  wrorth  telling  you  about ;  it  was 
not  for  that  I  began  —  only  the  scene  came  up  so  clear 
before  me  that  it  drew  me  aside." 

"  I  don't  need  to  tell  you,  Ian,"  said  his  mother,  "  that 
if  it  were  only  what  you  had  to  eat  on  the  most  ordinary 
day  of  your  life,  it  would  be  interesting  to  me ! " 

"  Thank  you,  mother  dear ;  I  seem  to  know  that 
without  being  told ;  but  I  could  never  talk  to  you 
about  anything  that  was  not  interesting  to  myself." 

Here  he  paused.     He  would  rather  have  stopped. 

"  Go  on,  go  on,  Ian.     I  am  longing  to  hear." 

"  Well  —  where  was  I  ?  —  We  left  at  the  inn  our 
carriage  and  horses,  and  went  with  our  guns  far  into 
the  forest  —  all  of  straight,  tall  pines,  up  and  up ;  and 
the  little  island-like  tops  of  them,  which,  if  there  be  a 
breath  of  wind,  are  sure  to  be  swaying  about  like  the 
motion  of  a  dream,  were  as  still  as  the  big  frosty  stars 
in  the  deep  blue  overhead." 

"  What  did  you  want  in  such  a  lonely  place  at  that 
time  of  the  night  ?  "  asked  the  mother. 


THE    WOLVES.  141 


She  sat  with  firm-closed  lips,  and  wide,  night-filled 
eyes  looking  at  her  son,  the  fear  of  love  in  her  beautiful 
face  —  a  face  more  beautiful  than  any  other  that  son 
had  yet  seen,  fit  window  for  a  heart  so  full  of  refuge  to 
look  out  of;  and  he  knew  how  she  looked  though  the 
darkness  was  between  them. 

"  Wolves,  mother,"  he  answered. 

She  shuddered.  She  was  a  great  reader  in  the  long 
winter  nights,  and  had  read  terrible  stories  of  wolves 

O  ' 

—  the  last  of  which  in  Scotland  had  been  killed  not  far 
from  where  they  sat. 

"What  did  you  want  with  the  wolves,  Ian?"  she 
faltered. 

"  To  kill  them,  mother.  I  never  liked  killing  animals 
any  more  than  Alister;  but  even  he  destroys  the 
hooded  crow ;  and  wolves  are  yet  fairer  game.  They 
are  the  out-of-door  devils  of  that  country,  and  I  fancy 
devils  do  go  into  them  sometimes,  as  they  did  once  into 
the  poor  swine :  they  are  the  terror  of  all  who  live  near 
the  forests. 

<;  There  was  no  moon  —  only  starlight ;  but  whenever 
we  came  to  any  opener  space,  there  was  light  enough 
from  the  snow  to  see  all  about ;  there  was  light  indeed 
from  the  snow  all  through  the  forest,  but  the  trees  were 
thick  and  dark.  Far  away,  somewhere  in  the  mystery 
of  the  black  wood,  we  could  now  and  then  hear  a  faint 
howling  :  it  came  from  the  red  throats  of  the  wolves." 

"  You  are  frightening  me,  Ian ! "  said  the  mother,  as 
if  they  had  been  two  children  telling  each  other  tales. 

"  Indeed,  mother,  they  are  very  horrible  when  they 
hunt  in  droves,  ravenous  with  hunger.  To  kill  one  of 
them,  if  it  be  but  one,  is  to  do  something  for  your  kind. 
And  just  at  that  time  I  was  oppressed  with  the  feeling 
that  I  had  done  and  was  doing  nothing  for  my  people 


142  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

—  my  own  humans;  and  not  knowing  anything  else  I 
could  at  the  moment  attempt,  I  resolved  to  go  and  kill 
a  wolf  or  two.  They  had  killed  a  poor  woman  only 
two  nights  before. 

"  As  soon  as  we  could  after  hearing  the  noise  of  them, 
we  got  up  into  two  trees.  It  took  us  some  time  to  dis- 
cover two  that  were  fit  for  our  purpose,  and  we  did  not 
get  them  so  near  each  other  as  we  should  have  liked. 
It  was  rather  anxious  work  too  until  we  found  them, 
for  if  we  encountered  on  foot  a  pack  of  those  demons, 
we  could  but  be  a  moment  or  two  alive :  killing  one, 
ten  would-be  upon  us,  and  a  hundred  more  on  the  backs 
of  those.  But  we  hoped  they  would  smell  us  up  in  the 
trees,  and  search  for  us,  when  wo  should  be  able  to  give 
account  of  a  few  of  them  at  least :  we  bad  double-bar- 
reled guns,  and  plenty  of  powder  and  ball." 

"  But  how  could  you  endure  the  cold  —  at  night  — 
and  without  food  ?  " 

"No,  mother  ;  we  did  not  try  that !  We  had  plenty 
to  eat  in  our  pockets.  My  companion  had  a  bottle  of 
vodki,  and  —  " 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  the  mother  with  suspicion. 

"A  sort  of  raw  spirit  —  horrible  stuff  —  more  like 
spirits  of  wine.  They  say  it  does  not  hurt  in  such 
cold." 

"  But,  Ian ! "  cried  the  mother,  and  seemed  unable 
to  say  more. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  mother !  "  said  Ian,  with  a 
merry  laugh.  "Surely  you  do  not  imagine  I  would 
drink  such  stuff!  True,  I  had  my  bottle,  but  it  was 
full  of  tea.  The  Russians  drink  enormous  quantities  of 
tea  —  though  not  so  strong  as  you  make  it." 

"  Go  on,  then,  Ian  ;  go  on." 

"  We  sat  a  long  time,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  the 


THE    WOLVES.  143 


wolves  coming  near  us.  It  was  very  cold,  but  our  furs 
kept  in  our  warmth.  By  and  by  I  fell  asleep  —  which 
was  not  dangerous  so  long  as  I  kept  warm,  and  I 
thought  the  cold  must  wake  me  before  it  began  to 
numb  me.  And  as  I  slept  I  dreamed ;  but  my  dream 
did  not  change  the  place  ;  the  forest,  the  tree  I  was  in, 
all  my  surroundings  were  the  same.  I  even  dreamed 
that  I  came  awake,  and  saw  everything  about  me  just 
as  it  was.  I  seemed  to  open  my  eyes,  and  look  about 
me  on  the  dazzling  snow  from  my  perch:  I  was  in  a 
small  tree  on  the  border  of  a  little  clearing. 

"  Suddenly,  out  of  the  wood  to  my  left,  issued  some- 
thing, running  fast,  but  with  soundless  feet,  over  the 
snow.  I  doubted  in  my  dream,  whether  the  object 
were  a  live  thing  or  only  a  shadow.  It  came  nearer,  arid 
I  saw  it  was  a  child,  a  little  girl,  running  as  if  for  her 
life.  She  came  straight  to  the  tree  I  sat  in,  and  when 
close  to  it,  but  without  a  moment's  halt,  looked  up,  and 
I  saw  a  sweet  little  face,  white  with  terror — which 
somehow  seemed,  however,  not  for  herself,  but  for  me. 
I  called  out  after  her  to  stop,  and  I  would  take  her  into 
the  tree  beside  me,  where  the  wolves  could  not  reach 
her ;  but  she  only  shook  her  head,  and  ran  on  over  the 
clearing  into  the  forest.  Among  the  boles  I  watched 
the  fleeting  shape  appear  and  disappear  and  appear 
again,  until  I  saw  it  no  more.  Then  first  I  heard  an- 
other kind  of  howl  from  the  wolves  —  that  of  pursuit. 
It  strengthened  and  swelled,  growing  nearer  and  nearer, 
till  at  last,  through  the  stillness  of  the  night  and  the 
moveless  forest  and  the  dead  snow,  came  to  my  ear  a 
kind  of  soft  rushing  sound.  I  don't  know  how  to  de- 
scribe it.  The  rustle  of  dry  leaves  is  too  sharp ;  it  was 
like  a  very  soft  heavy  rain  on  a  window  —  a  small  dull 
padding  padding :  it  was  the  feet  of  the  wolves.  They 


144  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

came  nearer  and  grew  louder  and  louder,  but  the  noise 
was  still  muffled  and  soft.  Their  howling,  however,  was 
now  loud  and  horrid.  I  suppose  they  cannot  help  howl- 
ing ;  if  they  could,  they  would  have  too  much  power 
over  poor  creatures,  coming  upon  them  altogether  at 
unawares  ;  but  as  it  is,  they  tell,  whether  they  will  or 
no,  that  they  are  upon  the  way.  At  length,  dark  as  a 
torrent  of  pitch,  out  of  the  forest  flowed  a  multitude  of 
obscure  things  —  silent  as  shadows  —  and  streamed 
away,  black  over  the  snow,  in  the  direction  the  child 
had  taken.  They  passed  close  to  the  foot  of  my  tree, 
but  did  not  even  look  up,  flitting  by  like  a  shadow 
whose  substance  was  unseen.  Where  the  child  had 
vanished  they  also  disappeared :  plainly  they  were  after 
her! 

"  It  was  only  a  dream,  mother !  don't  be  so  fright- 
ened," interrupted  Ian,  for  his  mother  gave  a  little  cry, 
almost  forgetting  what  the  narration  was. 

"  Then  first,"  he  went  on,  "  I  seemed  to  recover  my 
self-possession.  I  saw  that,  though  I  must  certainly  be 
devoured  by  the  wolves,  and  the  child  could  not  es- 
cape, I  had  no  choice  but  go  down  and  follow,  do  what 
I  could,  and  die  with  her.  Down  I  was  the  same  in- 
stant, running  as  I  had  never  run  before  even  in  a  dream, 
along  the  track  of  the  wolves.  As  I  ran,  I  heard  their 
howling,  but  it  seemed  so  far  off  that  I  could  not  hope 
to  be  in  time  to  kill  one  of  them  ere  they  were  upon 
her.  Still,  by  their  howling,  it  did  not  appear  they  had 
reached  her,  and  I  ran  on.  Their  noise  grew  louder 
and  louder,  but  I  seemed  to  run  miles  and  miles,  won- 
dering what  spell  was  upon  me  that  I  could  not  come 
up  with  them.  All  at  once  the  clamor  grew  hideous, 
and  I  saw  them.  They  were  gathered  round  a  tree,  in 
a  clearing  just  like  that  I  had  left,  and  were  madly 


THE    WOLVES.  145 


leaping  against  it,  but  ever  falling  back  baffled.  I 
looked  up :  in  the  top  of  the  tree  sat  the  little  girl,  her 
white  face  looking  down  upon  them  with  a  smile.  All 
the  terror  had  vanished  from  it.  It  was  still  white  as 
the  snow,  but  like  the  snow  was  radiating  a  white  light 
through  the  dark:  foliage  of  the  fir.  I  see  it  often, 
mother,  so  clear  that  I  could  paint  it.  I  was  enchanted 
at  the  sight.  But  she  was  not  in  safety  yet,  and  I 
rushed  into  the  heap  of  wolves,  striking  and  |tabbing 
with  my  hunting-knife.  I  got  to  the  tree,  and  was  by 
her  in  a  moment.  But  as  I  took  the  child  in  my  arms 
I  woke,  and  knew  that  it  was  a  dream.  I  sat  in  my  own 
tree,  and  up  against  the  stem  of  it  broke  a  howling, 
surging  black  wave  of  wolves.  They  leaped  at  the  tree- 
bole,  as  a  rock-checked  billow  would  leap.  My  gun 
was  to  my  shoulder  in  a  moment,  and  blazed  among 
them.  Howls  of  death  arose.  Their  companions  fell 
upon  the  wounded,  and  ate  them  up.  The  tearing  and 
yelling  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  was  like  the  tumult  of 
devils  full  of  hate  and  malice  and  greed.  Then  for  the 
first  time,  I  thought  whether  such  creatures  might  not 
be  the  open  haunts  of  demons.  I  do  not  imagine  that, 
when  those  our  Lord  drove  out  of  the  man  asked  per- 
mission to  go  into  the  swine,  they  desired  anything  un- 
heard of  before  in  the  demon- world.  I  think  they  were 
not  in  the  way  of  going  into  tame  animals ;  but,  as  they 
must  go  out  of  the  man,  as  they  greatly  dreaded  the 
abyss  of  the  disembodied,  and  as  no  ferocious  animals 
fit  to  harbor  them  were  near,  they  begged  leave  to  go 
into  such  as  were  accessible,  though  unsuitable  ;  where- 
upon the  natural  consequence  followed  :  their  presence 
made  the  poor  swine  miserable  even  to  madness,  and 
with  the  instinct  of  so  many  maniacs  that  in  death 
alone  lies  deliverance,  they  rushed  into  the  loch." 


146  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  It  may  be  so,  Ian  !  But  I  want  to  hear  how  you 
got  away  from  the  wolves." 

"  I  fired  and  fired  ;  and  still  they  kept  rushing  on  the 
tree-bole,  heaping  themselves  against  it,  those  behind 
struggling  up  on  the  backs  of  those  next  it,  in  a  storm 
of  rage  and  hunger  and  jealousy.  Not  a. few  who  had 
just  helped  to  eat  some  of  their  fellows,  were  themselves 
eaten  in  turn,  and  not  a  scrap  of  them  left ;  but  it  was 
a  large  pack,  and  it  would  have  taken  a  long  time  to 
kill  enow  to  satisfy  those  that  remained.  I  killed  and 
killed  until  my  ammunition  was  gone,  and  then  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  await  the  light.  When  the 
morning  began  to  dawn,  they  answered  its  light  with 
silence,  and  turning  away  swept  like  a  shadow  back  into 
the  wood.  But  even  now  sometimes,  as  I  lie  awake  at 
night,  I  grow  almost  doubtful  whether  the  whole  was 
not  a  hideous  dream.  —  Strange  to  tell,  I  heard  after- 
wards that  a  child  had  been  killed  by  them  in  the 
earlier  part  of  that  same  night. 

"  Not  the  less  for  that  was  what  I  went  through  be- 
tween the  time  my  powder  came  to  an  end  and  the 
dawn  of  the  morning,  a  real  spiritual  fact. 

"  In  the  midst  of  the  howling  I  grew  so  sleepy  that  the 
horrible  noise  itself  seemed  to  lull  me  while  it  kept  me 
awake,  and  I  fell  into  a  kind  of  reverie  with  which  my 
dream  came  back  and  mingled.  I  seemed  to  be  sitting 
in  the  tree  with  the  little  shining  girl,  and  she  was  my 
own  soul ;  and  all  the  wrong  things  I  had  in  me,  and 
all  the  wrong  things  I  had  done,  with  all  the  weaknesses 
and  evil  tendencies  of  my  nature,  whether  mine  by  fault 
or  by  inheritance,  had  taken  shape,  and,  in  the  persons 
of  the  howling  wolves  below,  were  besieging  me,  to  get 
at  me,  and  devour  me.  Suddenly  my  soul  was  gone. 
Above  were  the  still,  bright  stars,  shining  unmoved ; 


THE    WOLVES.  147 


beneath  white,  betraying  was  the  cold  careless  snow,  and 
the  howling  wolves ;  away  through  the  forest  was 
fleeting,  ever  fleeting,  my  poor  soul,  in  the  likeness  of 
a  white-faced  child  !  All  at  once  came  a  great  stillness, 
as  of  a  desert  place,  where  breathed  nor  life  of  man  nor 
life  of  beast.  I  was  alone,  frightfully  alone  —  alone  as 
I  had  never  been  before.  The  creatures  at  the  foot  of 
the  tree  were  still  howling,  but  their  cry  sounded  far 
away  and  small ;  they  were  in  some  story  I  had  been 
reading,  not  anywhere  in  my  life  !  I  was  left  and  lost 
—  left  by  whom  ?  —  lost  by  whom  ?  —  in  the  waste  of 
my  own  being,  without  stay  or  comfort.  I  looked  up 
to  the  sky ;  it  was  infinite  —  yet  only  a  part  of  myself, 
and  much  too  near  to  afford  me  any  refuge  from  the 
desert  of  my  lost  self.  It  came  down  nearer  ;  the  lim- 
itless space  carne  down,  and  clasped  me,  and  held  me. 
It  came  close  to  me  —  as  if  I  had  been  a  shape  off  which 
all  nature  was  taking  a  mould.  I  was  at  once  every- 
thing and  nothing.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  frightful  it 
was !  In  agony  I  cried  to  God,  with  a  cry  of  utter  de- 
spair. I  cannot  say  whether  I  may  believe  that  he  an- 
swered me ;  I  know  this,  that  a  great  quiet  fell  upon 
me  —  but  a  quiet  as  of  utter  defeat  and  helplessness. 
Then  again,  I  cannot  tell  how,  the  quiet  and  the  help- 
lessness melted  away  into  a  sense  of  God  —  a  feeling  as 
if  great  space  all  about  me  was  God  and  not  emptiness ! 
Wolf  nor  sin  could  touch  me  !  I  was  a  wide  peace  —  my 
very  being  peace!  And  in  my  mind  —  whether  an  echo 
from  the  Bible,  I  do  not  know  —  were  the  words :  —  'I, 
even  I,  am  he  that  comforteth  thee.  I  am  God,  thy 
savior  ! '  Whereas  I  had  seemed  all  alone,  I  was  with 
God,  the  only  icithness  man  can  really  share !  I  lifted 
my  eyes ;  morning  was  in  the  east,  and  the  wolves  were 
slinking  away  over  the  snow." 


148  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

How  to  receive  the  strange  experience  the  mother 
did  not  know.  She  ought  to  say  something,  for  she 
sorely  questioned  it !  Not  a  word  had  he  spoken  be- 
longing to  the  religion  in  which  she  had  brought  him 
up,  except  two  —  sin  and  God!  There  was  nothing  in 
it  about  the  atonement !  She  did  not  see  that  it  was  a 
dream,  say  rather  a  vision,  of  the  atonement  itself.  To 
Ian  her  interpretation  of  the  atonement  seemed  an  ever- 
lasting and  hopeless  severance.  The  patience  of  God 
must  surely  be  far  more  tried  by  those  who  would  inter- 
pret him,  than  by  those  who  deny  him  :  the  latter 
speak  lies  against  him,  the  former  speak  lies  for  him ! 
Yet  all  the  time  the  mother  felt  as  in  the  presence  of 
some  creature  of  a  higher  world  —  one  above  the  ordi- 
nary  race  of  men  —  whom  the  powers  of  evil  had  indeed 
misled,  but  perhaps  not  finally  snared.  She  little 
thought  how  near  she  was  to  imagining  that  good  may 
come  out  of  evil  —  that  there  is  good  which  is  not  of 
God !  She  did  not  yet  understand  that  salvation  lies 
in  being  one  with  Christ,  even  as  the  branch  is  one  with 
the  vine  ; —  that  any  salvation  short  of  God  is  no  salva- 
tion at  all.  What  moment  a  man  feels  that  he  belongs 
to  God  utterly,  the  atonement  is  there,  the  son  of  God 
is  reaping  his  harvest. 

The  good  mother  was  not,  however,  one  of  those  con- 
ceited, stiff-necked,  power-loving  souls  who  have  been 
the  curse  and  ruin  of  the  church  in  all  ages ;  she  was 
but  one  of  those  in  whom  reverence  for  its  passing  form 
dulls  the  perception  of  unchangeable  truth.  They  shut 
up  God's  precious  light  in  the  horn-lantern  of  human 
theory,  and  the  lantern  casts  such  shadows  on  the  path 
to  the  kingdom  as  seem  to  dim  eyes  insurmountable  ob- 
structions. For  the  sake  of  what  they  count  revealed, 
they  refuse  all  further  revelation,  and  what  satisfies 


THE    WOLVES.  149 


them  is  merest  famine  to  the  next  generation  of  the 
children  of  the  kingdom.  Instead  of  God's  truth  they 
offer  man's  theory,  and  accuse  of  rebellion  against  God 
such  as  cannot  live  on  the  husks  they  call  food.  But 
ah,  home-hungry  soul !  thy  God  is  not  the  elder  brother 
of  the  parable,  but  the  father  with  the  best  robe  and 
the  ring  —  a  God  high  above  all  thy  longing  even  as 
the  heavens  are  above  the  earth. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    GULF   THAT   DIVIDED. 

"TTTHEN  Ian  ceased,  a  silence  deep  as  the  darkness 

V  V  around,  fell  upon  them.  To  Ian,  the  silence 
seemed  the  very  voice  of  God,  clear  in  the  darkness ;  to 
the  mother  it  was  a  darkness  interpenetrating  the  dark- 
ness ;  it  was  a  great  gulf,  between  her  and  her  boy. 
She  must  cry  to  him  aloud,  but  what  should  she  cry  ? 
If  she  did  not,  an  opportunity,  perhaps  the  last,  on 
which  hung  eternal  issues,  would  be  gone  for  ever! 
Each  moment's  delay  was  a  disobedience  to  her  con- 
science, a  yielding  to  love's  simple  reluctance  !  With 
"  sick  assay  "  she  heaved  at  the  weight  on  her  heart, 
but  not  a  word  would  come.  If  Ian  would  but  speak 
again,  and  break  the  spell  of  the  terrible  stillness !  She 
must  die  in  eternal  wrong  if  she  did  not  speak !  But 
no  word  would  come.  Something  in  her  would  not 
move.  It  was  not  in  her  brain  or  her  lips  or  her  tongue, 
for  she  knew  all  the  time  she  could  speak  if  she  would. 
The  caitiff  will  was  not  all  on  the  side  of  duty !  She 
was  not  for  the  truth !  could  she  then  be  of  the  truth  ? 
She  did  not  suspect  a  divine  reluctance  to  urge  that 
which  was  not  good. 

Not  always  when  the  will  works  may  we  lay  hold  of 
it  in  the  act :  somehow,  she  knew  not  how,  she  heard 
herself  speaking. 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  God,  Ian?"  she  said. 

The  voice  she  heard  was  weak  and  broken. 
150 


THE    GULF    THAT    DIVIDED.  151 

"No,  mother,"  answered  Ian,  "  but  I  hope  it  was." 

"  Hopes,  my  dear  boy,  are  not  to  be  trusted." 

"That  is  true,  mother;  and  yet  we  are  saved  by 
hope." 

"We  are  saved  \syfaith" 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it." 

"  You  rejoice  my  heart.     But  faith  in  what  ?  " 

"  Faith  in  God,  mother." 

"  That  will  not  save  you." 

"  No,  but  God  will." 

"  The  devils  believe  in  God,  and  tremble." 

"  I  believe  in  the  father  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  do  not 
tremble." 

"You  ought  to  tremble  before  an  unreconciled 
God." 

"Like  the  devils,  mother?" 

"Like  a  sinful  child  of  Adam.  Whatever  your  fan- 
cies, Ian,  God  will  not  hear  you,  except  you  pray  to 
him  in  the  name  of  his  Son." 

"  Mother,  would  you  take  my  God  from  me  ?  Would 
you  blot  him  out  of  the  deeps  of  the  universe  ?  " 

"  Ian !  are  you  mad  ?  What  frightful  things  you 
would  lay  to  my  charge  !  " 

"  Mother,  I  would  gladly  —  oh  how  gladly  !  perish 
for  ever,  to  save  God  from  being  the  kind  of  God  you 
would  have  me  believe  him.  I  love  God,  and  will  not 
think  him  other  than  good.  Rather  than  believe  he 
does  not  hear  every  creature  that  cries  to  him,  whether 
he  knows  Jesus  Christ  or  not,  I  would  believe  there 
was  no  God,  and  go  mourning  to  my  grave." 

"  That  is  not  the  doctrine  of  the  gospel." 

"  It  is,  mother  :  Jesus  himself  says,  '  Every  one  that 
hath  heard  and  learned  of  the  Father,  cometh  unto 
me," 


152  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Why  then  do  you  not  come  to  him,  Ian  ?  " 

"  I  do  come  to  him ;  I  come  to  him  every  day.  I 
believe  in  nobody  but  him.  He  only  makes  the  uni- 
verse worth  being,  or  any  life  worth  living  ! " 

"  Ian,  I  can  not  understand  you !  If  you  believe  like 
that  about  him,  —  " 

"  I  don't  believe  about  him,  mother !  I  believe  in 
him.  He  is  my  life." 

"  We  will  not  dispute  about  words  !  The  question 
is,  do  you  place  your  faith  for  salvation  in  the  suffer- 
ings of  Christ  for  you?" 

"  I  do  not,  mother.  My  faith  is  in  Jesus  himself,  not 
in  his  sufferings. " 

o 

"  Then  the  anger  of  God  is  not  turned  away  from 
you." 

"  Mother,  I  say  again  —  I  love  God,  and  will  not  be- 
lieve such  things  of  him  as  you  say.  I  love  him  so 
that  I  would  rather  lose  him  than  believe  so  of  him." 

"  Then  you  do  not  accept  the  Bible  as  your  guide  ?" 

"  I  do,  mother,  for  it  tells  me  of  Jesus  Christ.  There 
is  no  such  teaching  as  you  say  in  the  Bible." 

"  How  little  you  know  your  New  Testament ! " 

"  I  don't  know  my  New  Testament !  It  is  the  only 
book  I  do  know  !  I  read  it  constantly  !  It  is  the  only 
thing  I  could  not  live  without !  —  No,  I  do  not  mean 
that !  I  could  do  without  my  Testament !  Christ  would 
be  all  the  same !  " 

"  O  Ian  !  Ian !  and  yet  you  will  not  give  Christ  the 
glory  of  satisfying  divine  justice  by  his  suffering  for 
your  sins ! " 

"Mother,  to  say  that  the  justice  of  God  is  satisfied 
with  suffering,  is  a  piece  of  the  darkness  of  hell ;  God  is 
willing  to  suffer,  ready  to  inflict  suffering  to  save  from 
sin,  but  suffering  is  no  satisfaction  to  him  or  his  justice." 


THE    GULP    THAT    DIVIDED.  153 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  his  justice  then  ?  " 

"  That  he  gives  you  and  me  and  everybody  fair 
play." 

The  homeliness  of  the  phrase  offended  the  moral  ear 
of  the  mother. 

"  How  dare  you  speak  lightly  of  him  in  my  hearing ! " 
she  cried. 

"  Because  I  will  speak  for  God  even  to  the  face  of 
my  mother !  "  answered  Ian.  "  He  is  more  to  me  than 
you,  mother  —  ten  times  more." 

"  You  speak  against  God,  Ian,"  she  rejoined,  calmed 
by  the  feeling  she  had  roused. 

"  No,  mother.  He  speaks  against  God  who  says  he 
does  things  that  are  not  good.  It  does  not  make  a 
thing  good  to  call  it  good.  I  speak  for  him  when  I  say 
he  cannot  but  give  fair  play.  He  knows  he  put  me 
where  I  was  sure  to  sin ;  he  will  not  comdemn  me  be- 
cause I  have  sinned;  he  leaves  me  to  do  that  myself. 
He  will  condemn  me  only  if  I  do  not  turn  away  from 
sin,  for  he  has  made  me  able  to  turn  from  it,  and  I  do." 

"  He  will  forgive  sin  only  for  Christ's  sake." 

"  He  forgives  it  for  his  own  name's  sake,  his  own 
love's  sake.  There  is  no  such  word  as  for  Christ's  sake 
in  the  New  Testament  —  except  where  Paul  prays  us 
for  Christ's  sake  to  be  reconciled  to  God.  It  is  in  the 
English  New  Testament,  but  not  in  the  Greek." 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  that  the  justice  of  God 
demands  the  satisfaction  of  the  sinner's  endless  punish- 
ment?" 

"  I  do  not.  Nothing  can  satisfy  the  justice  of  God 
but  justice  in  his  creature.  The  justice  of  God  is  the 
love  of  what  is  right,  and  the  doing  of  what  is  right. 
Eternal  misery  in  the  name  of  justice  could  satisfy  none 
but  a  demon  whose  bad  laws  had  been  broken." 


154  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  I  grant  you  that  no  amount  of  suffering  on  the  part 
of  the  wicked  could  satisfy  justice ;  but  it  is  the  Holy 
One  who  suffers  for  our  sins !  " 

"  O,  mother !  Justice  do  wrong  for  its  own  satis- 
faction! Did  Jesus  deserve  punishment?  If  not,  then 
to  punish  him  v/as  to  wrong  him  ! " 

"  But  he  was  willing  ;  he  consented." 

"  He  yielded  to  injustice  —  but  the  in  justice  was  man's 
not  God's.  If  Justice  insisted  on  punishment,  it  would 
at  least  insist  on  the  guilty,  not  the  innocent,  being 
punished!  it  would  revolt  from  the  idea  of  the  inno- 
cent being  punished  for  the  guilty  !  Mind,  I  say  being 
punished,  not  suffering:  that  is  another  thing  al- 
together. It  is  an  eternal  satisfaction  to  love  to  suffer 
for  the  guilty,  but  not  to  justice  that  innocence  should 
be  punished  for  the  guilty.  The  whole  idea  of  such 
atonement  is  the  merest  subterfuge,  a  figment  of  the 
paltry  human  intellect  to  reconcile  difficulties  of  its  own 
invention.  Once  my  father  said  wrhen  Alister  had  done 
something  wrong,  'He  must  be  punished  except  some 
one  will  be  punished  for  him ! '  I  offered  to  take  his 
place  partly  that  it  seemed  expected  of  me,  partly  that 
I  was  moved  by  vanity,  and  partly  that  I  foresaw  what 
would  follow." 

"  And  what  did  follow  ?  "  asked  the  mother,  to  whom 
the  least  word  out  of  the  past  concerning  her  husband, 
was  like  news  from  the  world  beyond.  At  the  same 
time  it  seemed  almost  an  offence  that  one  of  his  sons 
should  know  anything  about  him  she  did  not  know. 

"  He  scarcely  touched  me,  mother,"  answered  Ian. 
"  The  thing  taught  me  something  very  different  from 
what  he  had  meant  to  teach  by  it.  That  he  failed 
to  carry  out  his  idea  of  justice  helped  me  afterwards  to 
see  that  God  could  not  have  done  it  either  for  that  it 


THE    GULF    THAT    DIVIDED.  155 

was  not  justice.  Some  perception  of  this  must  have 
lain  at  the  root  of  the  heresy  that  Jesus  did  not  suffer, 
but  a  cloud  phantom  took  his  place  on  the  cross. 
Wherever  people  speculate  instead  of  obeying,  they  fall 
into  endless  error." 

"  You  graceless  boy !  Do  you  dare  to  say  your 
father  speculated  instead  of  obeying?"  the  mother 
cried,  hot  with  indignation. 

'  O 

"  No,  mother.  It  was  not  my  father  who  invented 
that  way  of  accounting  for  the  death  of  our  Lord." 

"  He  believed  it !  " 

"  He  accepted  it,  saturated  with  the  tradition  of  the 
elders  before  he  could  think  for  himself.  He  does  not 
believe  it  now." 

"  But  why  then  should  Christ  have  suffered?" 

"  It  is  the  one  fact  that  explains  to  me  everything," 
said  Ian,  "  But  I  am  not  going  to  talk  about  it.  So 
long  as  your  theory  satisfies  you,  mother,  why  should  I 
show  you  mine  ?  When  it  no  longer  satisfies  you, 
when  it  troubles  you  as  it  has  troubled  me,  and  as  I 
pray  God  it  may  trouble  you,  when  you  feel  it  stand 
between  you  and  the  best  love  you  could  give  God, 
then  I  will  share  my  very  soul  with  you  —  tell  you 
thoughts  which  seem  to  sublimate  my  very  being  in 
adoration." 

"  I  do  not  see  what  other  meaning  you  can  put  upon 
the  statement  that  he  was  a  sacrifice  for  our  sins !  " 

"  There  is  no  question  about  that,  mother  !  Had  we 
not  sinned  he  would  never  have  died;  and  he  died  to 
deliver  us  from  our  sins.  He  against  whom  was  the 
sin,  became  the  sacrifice  for  it ;  the  Father  suffered  in 
the  Son,  for  they  are  one.  But  if  I  could  see  no  other 
explanation  than  yours,  I  would  not,  could  not  accept 
it — for  God's  sake  I  would  not." 


156  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  How  you  can  say  you  believe  in  Christ,  when  you 
do  not  believe  in  the  atonement!  " 

"It  is  not  so,  mother.  I  do  not  believe  what  you 
mean  by  the  atonement ;  what  God  means  by  it,  I  de- 
sire to  accept.  But  we  are  never  told  to  believe  in  the 
atonement;  we  are  told  to  believe  in  Christ  —  and, 
mother,  in  the  name  of  the  great  Father  who  hears  me 
speak,  I  do  believe  in  him." 

"  How  can  you,  when  you  do  not  believe  what  God 
says  about  him  ?  " 

"  I  do.  God  does  not  say  those  things  about  him  you 
think  he  says.  They  are  mere  traditions,  not  the  teach- 
ing of  those  who  understood  him.  But  I  might  believe 
all  about  him  quite  correctly,  yet  not  believe  in  him." 

"  What  do  you  call  believing  in  him  then  ?" 

"  Obeying  him,  mother  —  to  say  it  as  shortly  as  I 
can.  I  try  to  obey  him  in  the  smallest  things  he 
says  —  only  there  are  no  small  things  he  says  —  and 
so  does  Alister.  I  strive  to  be  what  he  would 
have  me,  nor  do  I  hold  anything  else  worth  my  care. 
Let  a  man  trust  in  his  atonement  to  absolute  assurance 
for  a  man  to  trust  in  it,  if  he  does  not  do  the  things  he 
tells  him — the  very  things  he  said  —  he  does  not  be- 
lieve in  him.  He  may  be  a  good  man,  but  he  has  not 
yet  heard  enough  and  learned  enough  of  the  Father  to 
be  sent  to  Jesus  to  learn  more." 

"  Then  I  do  not  believe  in  him,"  said  the  mother, 
with  strange,  sad  gentleness  —  for  his  words  awoke  an 
old  anxiety  never  quite  at  rest. 

Ian  was  silent.  The  darkness  seemed  to  deepen 
around  them,  and  the  silence  grew  keen.  The  mother 
began  to  tremble. 

"God  knows"  said  Ian  at  length,  and  again  the 
broken  silence  closed  around  them. 


THE    GULF    THAT    DIVIDED.  157 

It  was  between  God  and  his  mother  now !  Unwise 
counsellors  will  persuade  the  half  crazy  doubter  in  his 
own  faith,  to  believe  that  he  does  believe  !  —  how  much 
better  to  convince  him  that  his  faith  is  a  poor  thing, 
that  he  must  rise  and  go  and  do  the  thing  that  Jesus 
tells  him,  and  so  believe  indeed  !  When  will  men  un- 
derstand that  it  is  neither  thought  nor  talk,  neither  sor- 
row for  sin  nor  love  of  holiness  that  is  required  of  them, 
but  obedience !  To  be  and  to  obey  are  one. 

A  cold  hand  grasping  her  heart,  the  mother  rose,  and 
went  from  the  room.  The  gulf  seemed  now  at  last  ut- 

o 

terly,  hopelessly  impassable  !  She  had  only  feared  it 
before ;  she  knew  it  now !  She  did  not  see  that,  while 
she  believed  evil  things  of  God,  and  none  the  less  that 
she  called  them  good,  oneness  was  impossible  between 
her  and  any  being  in  God's  creation. 

The  poor  mother  thought  herself  broken-hearted,  and 
lay  down  too  sick  to  know  that  she  was  trembling  from 
head  to  foot.  Such  was  the  hold,  such  the  authority 
of  traditional  human  dogma  on  her  soul  —  a  soul  that 
scorned  the  notion  of  priestly  interposition  between 
God  and  his  creature  —  that,  instead  of  glorifying  God 
that  she  had  given  birth  to  such  a  man,  she  wept  bit- 
terly because  he  was  on  the  broad  road  to  eternal  con- 
demnation. 

But  as  she  lay,  now  weeping,  now  still  and  cold  with 
despair,  she  found  that  for  some  time  she  had  not  been 
thinking.  But  she  had  not  been  asleep  !  Whence  then 
was  this  quiet  that  was  upon  her  ?  Something  had  hap- 
pened, though  she  knew  of  nothing !  There  was  in  her 
as  it  were  a  moonlight  of  peace ! 

"  Can  it  be  God  ?  "  she  said  to  herself. 

No  more  than  Ian  could  she  tell  whether  it  was  God 
or  not ;  but  from  that  night  she  had  an  idea  in  her  soul 


158  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

by  which  to  reach  after  "the  peace  of  God."  She 
lifted  up  her  heart  in  such  prayer  as  she  had  never 
prayed  before ;  and  slowly,  imperceptibly  awoke  in  her 
the  feeling  that,  if  she  was  not  believing  aright,  God 
would  not  therefore  cast  her  off,  but  would  help  her  to 
believe  as  she  ought  to  believe:  was  she  not  willing? 

~  o 

Therewith  she  began  to  feel  as  if  the  gulf  betwixt  her 
and  Ian  were  not  so.  wide  as  she  had  supposed  ;  and 
that  if  it  were,  she  would  hope  in  the  Son  of  Man. 
Doubtless  he  was  in  rebellion  against  God,  seeing  he 
would  question  his  ways,  and  refuse  to  believe  the  word 
he  had  spoken,  but  surely  something  might  be  done  for 
him !  The  possibility  had  not  yet  dawned  upon  her  that 
there  could  be  anything  in  the  New  Testament  but 
those  doctrines  against  which  the  best  in  him  revolted. 
She  little  suspected  the  glory  of  sky  and  earth  and  sea 
eternal  that  would  one  day  burst  upon  her!  that  she 
would  one  day  see  God  not  only  good  but  infinitely 
good  —  infinitely  better  than  she  had  dared  to  think 
him,  fearing  to  imagine  him  better  than  he  was !  Mor- 
tal, she  dreaded  being  more  just  than  God,  more  pure 
than  her  maker ! 

."I  will  go  away  to-morrow!"  said  Ian  to  himself. 
"  I  am  only  a  pain  to  her !  She  will  come  to  see  things 
better  without  me !  I  cannot  live  in  her  sight  any 
longer  now !  I  will  go  and  come  again." 

His  heart  broke  forth  in  prayer. 

"  O  God,  let  my  mother  see  that  thou  art  indeed 
true-hearted ;  that  thou  dost  not  give  us  life  by  parings 
and  subterfuges,  but  abundantly ;  that  thou  dost  not 
make  men  in  order  to  assert  thy  dominion  over  them, 
but  that  they  may  partake  of  thy  life.  O  God,  have 
pity  when  I  cannot  understand,  and  teach  me  as  thou 
would st  the  little  one  whom,  if  thou  wert  an  earthly 


THE    GULF    THAT    DIVIDED.  159 

father  amongst  us  as  thy  son  was  an  earthly  son,  them 
woulclst  carry  about  in  thy  arms.  When  pride  rises  in 
me,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  be  free  and  walk  without 
thy  hand  ;  when  it  looks  as  if  a  man  should  be  great  in 
himself,  nor  need  help  from  God ;  then  think  thou  of 
me,  and  I  shall  know  that  I  cannot  live  or  think  with- 
out the  self-willing  life  ;  that  thou  art  because  thou  art, 
I  am  because  thou  art ;  that  I  am  deeper  in  thee  than 
my  life,  thou  more  to  my  being  than  that  being  to  it- 
self. Was  net  that  Satan's  temptation,  Father?  Did 
he  not  take  self  for  the  root  of  self  in  him,  when  God 
only  is  the  root  of  all  self  ?  And  he  has  not  repented 
yet !  Is  it  his  thought  coming  up  in  me,  flung  from  the 
hollow  darkness  of  his  soul  into  mine  ?  Thou  knowest, 
when  it  comes  I  am  wretched.  I  love  it  not.  I  would 
have  thee  lord  and  love  over  all.  But  I  cannot  under- 
stand :  how  comes  it  to  look  sometimes  as  if  independ- 
ence must  be  the  greater?  A  lie  cannot  be  greater 
than  the  truth!  I  do  not  understand,  but  thou  dost. 
I  cannot  see  my  foundation ;  I  cannot  dig  up  the  roots 
of  my  being :  that  would  be  to  understand  creation  ! 
Will  the  Adversary  ever  come  to  see  that  thou  only 
art  grand  and  beautiful  ?  How  came  he  to  think  to  be 
greater  by  setting  up  for  himself  ?  How  was  it  that  it 
looked  so  to  him?  How  is  it  that,  not  being  true,  it 
should  ever  look  so  ?  There  must  be  an  independence 
that  thou  lovest,  of  which  this  temptation  is  the  shadow  ? 
That  must  be  how  Satan  fell !  —  for  the  sake  of  not  be- 
ing a  slave !  —  that  he  might  be  a  free  being !  Ah, 
Lord,  I  see  how  it  all  comes !  It  is  because  we  are  not 
near  enough  to  thee  to  partake  of  thy  liberty  that  we 
want  a  liberty  of  our  own  different  from  thine !  We  do 
not  see  that  we  are  one  with  thee,  that  thy  glory  is  our 
glory,  that  we  can  have  none  but  in  thee !  that  we  are 


160  WHAT'S  MIXE'S  MIXE. 

of  thy  family,  thy  home,  thy  heart,  and  what  is  great 
for  thee  is  great  for  us !  that  man's  meanness  is  to 
want  to  be  great  out  of  his  Father !  Without  thy  eter- 
nity in  us  we  are  so  small  that  we  think  ourselves  great, 
and  are  thus  miserably  abject  and  contemptible.  Thou 
only  art  true  !  thou  only  art  noble  !  thou  wantest  no 
glory  for  selfishness  !  thou  doest,  thou  art,  what  thou 
requirest  of  thy  children !  I  know  it,  for  I  see  it  in 
Jesus,  who  casts  the  contempt  of  obedience  upon  the 
baseness  of  pride,  who  cares  only  for  thee  and  for  us, 
never  thinking  of  himself  save  as  a  gift  to  give  us !  O 
lovely,  perfect  Christ!  with  my  very  life  I  worship 
thee !  Oh,  pray,  Christ !  make  me  and  my  brother 
strong  to  be  the  very  thing  thou  wouldst  have  us,  as 
thy  brothers,  the  children  of  thy  Father.  Thou  art  our 
perfect  brother — perfect  in  love,  in  courage,  in  ten- 
derness !  Amen,  Lord !  Good-night !  I  am  thine." 
He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  then  resumed : 
"  Lord,  thou  knowest  whither  my  thoughts  turn  the 
moment  I  cease  praying  to  thee.  I  dared  not  think  of 
her,  but  that  I  know  thee.  But  for  thee,  my  heart 
would  be  as  water  within  me  !  Oh,  take  care  of  her, 
come  near  to  her !  Thou  didst  send  her  where  she  could 
not  learn  fast  —  but  she  did  learn.  And  now,  God,  I 
do  not  know  where  she  is!  Thou  only  of  all  in  this 
world  knowest,  for  to  thee  she  lives  though  gone  from 
my  sight  and  knowledge  in  the  dark  to  me.  Pray 
Father,  let  her  know  that  thou  art  near  her,  and  that  I 
love  her.  Thou  hast  made  me  love  her  by  taking  her 
from  me  :  thou  wilt  give  her  to  me  again  !  In  this  hope 
I  will  live  all  my  days,  until  thou  takest  me  also ;  for 
to  hope  mightily  is  to  believe  well  in  thee.  I  will  hope 
in  thee  infinitely.  Amen,  Father ! " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    CLAN   CHRISTMAS. 

BY  slow  degrees,  with  infinite  subdivisions  and  ap- 
parent reversals  of  change,  the  autumn  had 
passed  into  winter  indeed.  Cloud  above,  mire  below, 
mist  and  rain  all  between,  made  up  many  days ;  only, 
like  the  dreariest  life,  they  were  broken  through  and 
parted,  lest  they  should  seem  the  universe  itself,  by 
such  heavenly  manifestations,  such  gleams  and  glimpses 
of  better,  as  come  into  all  lives,  all  winters,  all  evil 
weathers.  What  is  loosed  on  earth  is  loosed  first  in 
heaven :  we  have  often  shared  of  heaven,  when  we 
thought  it  but  a  softening  of  earth's  hardness.  Every 
relief  is  a  promise,  a  pledge  as  well  as  a  passing  meal. 
The  frost  at  length  had  brought  with  it  brightness  and 
persuasion  and  rousing.  In  the  fields  it  was  swelling 
and  breaking  the  clods  ;  and  for  the  heart  of  man,  it 
did  something  to  break  up  that  clod  too.  A  sense  of 
friendly  pleasure  filled  all  the  human  creatures.  The 
children  ran  about  like  wild  things  ;  the  air  seemed  to 
intoxicate  them.  The  mother  went  out  walking  with 
the  girls,  and  they  talked  of  their  father  and  Christian 
and  Mr.  Sercombe,  who  were  all  coming  together.  For 
some  time  they  saw  nothing  more  of  their  next  neigh- 
bors. 

They  had  made  some  attempts  at  acquaintance  with 
the  people  of  the  glen,  but  unhappily  were  no  wise  cour- 
teous enough  for  their  ideas  of  good  breeding,  and  of- 

161 


162  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

fended  both  their  pride  and  their  sense  of  propriety. 
The  manners  and  address  of  these  northern  peasants 
were  blameless  —  nearly  perfect  indeed,  like  those  of 
the  Irish,  and  in  their  own  houses  beyond  criticism ; 
those  of  the  ladies  conventional  where  not  rudely  con- 
descending. If  Mistress  Conal  was  an  exception  to  the 
rest  of  the  clan,  even  she  would  be  more  civil  to  a 
stranger  than  to  her  chief  whom  she  loved  —  until  the 
stranger  gave  her  offence.  And  if  then  she  passed  to 
imprecation,  she  would  not  curse  like  an  ordinary  wo- 
man, but  like  a  poetess,  gaining  rather  than  losing  dig- 
nity. She  would  rise  to  the  evil  occasion,  no  hag,  but 
a  largely-offended  sibyl,  whom  nothing  thereafter 
should  ever  appease.  To  forgive  was  a  virtue  unknown 
to  Mistress  Conal.  Its  more  than  ordinary  difficulty  in 
forgiving  is  indeed  a  special  fault  of  the  Celtic  char- 
acter. This  must  not,  however,  be  confounded  with  a 
desire  for  revenge.  The  latter  is  by  no  means  a  specially 
Celtic  characteristic.  Resentment  and  vengeance  are 
far  from  inseparable.  The  heart  that  surpasses  courtesy, 
except  indeed  that  courtesy  be  rooted  in  love  divine, 
must,  when  treated  with  discourtesy,  experience  the 
worse  revulsion,  feel  the  bitterer  indignation.  But 
many  a  Celt  would  forgive,  and  forgive  thoroughly  and 
heartily,  with  his  enemy  in  his  power,  who,  so  long  as 
he  remained  beyond  his  reach,  could  not  even  imagine 
circumstances  in  which  they  might  be  reconciled.  To 
a  Celt  the  summit  of  wrong  is  a  slight,  but  apology  is 
correspondingly  potent  with  him.  Mistress  Conal, 
however,  had  not  the  excuse  of  a  specially  courteous 
nature. 

Christina  and  Mercy,  calling  upon  her  one  morning, 
were  not  ungraciously  received,  but  had  the  misfortune 
to  remark,  trusting  to  her  supposed  ignorance  of  Eng- 


THE    CLAN    CHRISTMAS.  168 

lish,  upon  the  dirtiness  of  her  floor,  they  themselves 
having  imported  not  a  little  of  the  moisture  that  had 
turned  its  surface  into  a  muddy  paste.  She  said  nothing, 
but,  to  the  general  grudge  she  bore  the  possessors  of 
property  once  belonging  to  her  clan,  she  now  added  a 
personal  one  ;  the  offence  lay  cherished  and  smoulder- 
ing. Had  the  chief  offended  her,  she  would  have  found 
a  score  of  ways  to  prove  to  herself  that  he  meant  noth- 
ing; but  she  desired  no  mitigation  of  the  trespass  of 
strangers. 

o 

The  people  at  the  New  House  did  not  get  on  very 
well  with  any  of  the  clan.  In  the  first  place,  they 
were  regarded  not  merely  as  interlopers,  but  al- 
most as  thieves  of  the  property  —  though  in  truth  it 
had  passed  to  them  first  through  other  hands.  In  the 
second  place,  rumor  had  got  about  that  they  did  not 
behave  with  sufficient  respect  to  the  chief's  family,  in 
the  point  of  whose  honor  the  clan  was  the  more  exact- 
ing because  of  their  common  poverty.  Hence  the  in- 
habitants of  the  glen,  though  they  were  of  course  po- 
lite, showed  but  little  friendliness. 

But  the  main  obstacle  to  their  reception  was  in 
themselves:  the  human  was  not  much  developed  in 
them ;  they  understood  nothing  of  their  own  beings ; 
they  had  never  had  any  difficulty  with  themselves  :  — 
how  could  they  understand  others,  especially  in  circum- 
stances and  with  histories  so  different  from  their  own ! 
They  had  not  a  notion  how  poor  people  feel,  still  less 
poor  people  poorer  than  before  —  or  how  they  regard 
the  rich  who  have  what  they  have  lost.  They  did  not 
understand  any  human  feeling  —  not  even  the  silliness 
they  called  love — -a  godless,  mindless  affair,  fit  only  for 
the  doll-histories  invented  by  children  :  they  had  a  feel- 
ing, or  a  feeling  had  them,  till  another  feeling  came 


164  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

and  took  its  place.  When  a  feeling  was  there,  they 
felt  as  if  it  would  never  go ;  when  it  was  gone,  they 
felt  as  if  it  had  never  been ;  when  it  returned,  they  felt 
as  if  it  had  never  gone.  They  seldom  came  so  near 
anything  as  to  think  about  it,  never  put  a  question  to 
themselves  as  to  how  a  thing  affected  them,  or  concern- 
ing the  phenomena  of  its  passage  through  their  con- 
sciousness. There  is  a  child-eternity  of  soul  that  needs 
to  ask  nothing,  because  it  understands  everything  :  the 
ways  of  the  spirit  are  open  to  it ;  but  where  a  soul  does 
not  understand,  and  has  to  learn,  how  is  it  to  do  so  with- 
out thinking?  They  knew  nothing  of  labor,  nothing  of 
danger,  nothing  of  hunger,  nothing  of  cold,  nothing  of 
sickness,  nothing  of  loneliness.  The  realities  of  life,  in 
their  lowest  forms  as  in  their  highest,  were  far  from 
them.  If  they  had  nearly  gone  through  life  instead  of 
having  but  entered  upon  it,  they  would  have  had  some 
ground  for  thinking  themselves  unfairly  dealt  with  ;  for 
to  be  made,  and  then  left  to  be  worthless,  unfit  even  for 
damnation,  might  be  suspected  for  hard  lines ;  but 
there  is  One,  who  takes  a  perfect  interest  in  his  lowliest 
creatures,  and  will  not  so  spare  it.  They  were  girls 
notwithstanding  who  could  make  themselves  agreeable, 
and  passed  for  clever —  Christina  because  she  could  give 
a  sharp  answer,  and  sing  a  drawing-room  song,  Mercy 
because  as  yet  she  mostly  held  her  tongue.  That  there 
was  at  the  same  time  in  each  of  them  the  possibility  of 
being  developed  into  something  of  inestimable  value,  is 
merely  to  say  that  they  were  human. 

The  days  passed,  and  Christmas  drew  near.  The 
gentlemen  arrived.  There  was  family  delight  and  a 
bustling  reception.  It  is  amazing  —  it  shows  indeed 
how  deep  and  divine,  how  much  beyond  the  individual 
self  are  the  family  affections  —  that  such  gladness  breaks 


THE    CLAN    CHRISTMAS.  165 

forth  in  the  meeting  of  persons  who,  within  an  hour  or 
so  of  the  joyous  welcome,  self  getting  the  better  of  the 
divine,  will  begin  to  feel  bored,  and  will  each  lay  the 
blame  of  the  disappointment  on  the  other. 

Coats  were  pulled  off ;  mufflers  were  unwound ; 
pretty  hands  were  helping ;  strong  hands  were  lifting 
and  carrying  ;  every  room  was  bright  with  a  great  fire ; 
tea  was  refused,  and  dinner  welcomed.  After  dinner 
came  the  unpacking  of  great  boxes  ;  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  resultant  pleasure,  the  proposal  came  to  be  made 
—  none  but  Christina  knew  how  —  that  the  inhabitants 
of  the  cottage  should  be  invited  to  dinner  on  Christ- 
mas-eve. It  was  carried  at  once,  and  the  next  after- 
noon a  formal  invitation  was  sent. 

At  the  cottage  it  caused  conference,  no  discussion. 
The  lady  of  the  New  House  had  not  called  with  her 
girls,  it  was  true ;  but  then  neither  had  the  lady  of  the 
castle  —  for  that  was  the  clans  people's  name  for  the 
whole  ridge  on  which  the  cottage  stood  —  called  on  the 
new-comers!  If  there  was  offence,  it  was  mutual!  The 
unceremonious  invitation  might  indicate  that  it  was  not 
thought  necessary  to  treat  them  as  persons  who  knew 
the  ways  of  society  ;  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  meant  that 
they  were  ready  to  throw  aside  formalities  and  behave 
heartily,  it  would  be  wrong  not  to  meet  them  half-way  ! 
They  resolved  therefore  to  make  a  counter-proposal; 
and  if  the  invitation  came  of  neighborliness,  and  not  of 
imagined  patronage,  they  would  certainly  meet  it  in  a 
friendly  spirit !  Answer  was  returned,  sealed  with  no 
mere  crest,  but  with  a  coat  of  arms,  to  the  effect  that  it 
had  been  the  custom  since  time  forgotten  for  the  chief 
to  welcome  his  people  and  friends  without  distinction 
on  Christmas-eve,  and  the  custom  could  not  be  broken  ; 
but  if  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  New  House 


166  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

would  favor  them  with  their  company  on  the  occasion, 
to  dine  and  dance,  the  chief  and  his  family  would  grate- 
fully accept  any  later  offer  of  hospitality  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Peregrine  Palmer  might  do  them  the  honor  to  send. 

This  reply  gave  occasion  to  a  good  deal  of  talk  at  the 
New  House,  not  entirely  of  a  sort  which  the  friends  of 
the  chief  would  have  enjoyed  hearing.  Frequent  were 
the  bursts  of  laughter  from  the  men  at  the  assumption 
of  the  title  of  chiefby  a  man  with  no  more  land  than 
he  could  just  manage  to  live  upon.  The  village  they 
said,  and  said  truly,  in  which  the  greater  number  of  his 
people  lived,  was  not  his  at  all  —  not  a  foot  of  the 
ground  on  which  it  stood,  not  a  stone  or  sod  of  which 
it  was  built  —  but  belonged  to  a  certain  Canadian,  who 
was  about  to  turn  all  his  territory  around  and  adjacent 
into  a  deer  forest !  They  could  not  see  that,  if  there 
had  ever  been  anything  genuine  in  the  patriarchal  rela- 
tion, the  mere  loss  of  the  clan-property  could  no 
more  cause  the  chieftainship  to  cease,  than  could  the 
loss  of  the  silver-hilted  Andrew  Ferrara,  descended  from 
father  to  son  for  so  many  generations. 

There  are  dull  people,  and  just  as  many  clever  peo- 
ple, who  look  upon  customs  of  society  as  on  laws  of  na- 
ture, and  judge  the  worth  of  others  by  their  knowledge 
or  ignorance  of  the  same.  So  doing  they  disable  them- 
selves from  understanding  the  essential,  which  is,  like 
love,  the  fulfilling  of  the  law.  A  certain  Englishman 
gave  great  offence  in  an  Arab  tent  by  striding  across 
the  food  placed  for  the  company  on  the  ground  :  would 
any  Celt,  Irish  or  Welsh,  have  been  guilty,  of  such  a 
blunder?  But  there  was  not  any  overt  offence  on  the 
present  occasion.  They  called  it  indeed  a  cool  proposal 
that  they  should  put  off  their  Christmas-party  for  that 
of  a  plough  man  in  shabby  kilt  and  hob-nailed  shoes ; 


THE    CLAN    CHRISTMAS.  167 

but  on  their  amused  indignation  supervened  the 
thought  that  they  were  in  a  wild  part  of  the  country, 
where  it  would  be  absurd  to  expect  the  savoir  vivre  of 
the  south,  and  it  would  be  amusing  to  see  the  customs 
of  the  land  :  by  suggestion  and  seeming  response  the 
clever  Christina,  unsuspected  even  of  Mercy,  was  the 
motive  power  to  bring  about  the  acceptance  of  the 
chief's  invitation. 

A  friendly  answer  was  sent :  they  would  not  go  to 
dinner,  they  said,  as  it  was  their  custom  also  to  dine  at 
home  on  Christmas-eve  ;  but  they  would  dine  early, 
and  spend  the  evening  with  them. 

To  the  laird  the  presence  of  the  lowland  girls  prom- 
ised a  great  addition  to  the  merry-making.  During  the 
last  generation  all  the  gentlemen-farmers  of  the  clan, 
and  most  of  the  humbler  tacksmen  as  well  had  vanished, 
and  there  was  a  wide  intellectual  space  between  those 
all  left  and  the  family  of  the  chief.  Often  when  Ian 
was  away,  would  Alister,  notwithstanding  his  love  for 
his  people  and  their  entire  response,  have  felt  lonely 
but  for  labor. 

There  being  in  the  cottage  no  room  equal  to  the  re- 
ception of  a  large  company,  and  the  laird  receiving  all 
the  members  of  the  clan  —  "  poor,"  I  was  going  to  say, 
"  and  rich,"  but  there  were  no  rich  —  as  well  as  any 
neighbor  or  traveller  who  chose  to  appear,  the  father 
of  the  present  chief  had  had  good  regard  to  the  neces- 
sities of  entertainment  in  the  construction  of  a  new 
barn  :  companionship,  large  feasting,  and  dancing  had 
been  even  more  considered  than  the  storing  and  thresh- 
ing of  corn,  among  its  imperative  uses. 

There  are  in  these  days  many  who  will  mock ;  for 
my  part  I  am  proud  of  a  race  whose  social  relations  are 
the  last  upon  which  they  will  retrench,  whose  pleasure 


168  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

latest  yielded  is  their  hospitality.  It  is  a  common  feel- 
ing that  only  the  well-to-do  have  a  right  to  be  hospita- 
ble ;  the  ideal  flower  of  hospitality  is  almost  unknown 
to  the  rich ;  it  can  hardly  be  grown  save  in  the  gardens 
of  the  poor ;  it  is  one  of  their  beatitudes. 

Means  in  Glenruadh  had  been  shrinking  for  many 
years,  but  the  heart  of  the  chief  never  shrank.  His 
dwelling  dwindled  from  a  castle  to  a  house,  from  a 
house  to  a  cottage ;  but  the  hospitality  did  not  dwindle. 
As  the  money  vanished,  the  show  diminished;  the 
place  of  entertainment  from  a  hall  became  a  kitchen, 
from  a  kitchen  changed  to  a  barn  ;  but  the  heart  of  the 
chief  was  the  same ;  the  entertainment  was  but  little 
altered,  the  hospitality  not  in  the  least.  When  things 
grow  hard,  the  first  saving  is  generally  off  others ;  the 
Macruadh's  was  off  himself.  The  land  was  not  his 
save  as  steward  of  the  grace  of  God!  Let  it  not  be 
supposed  he  ran  in  debt :  with  his  mother  at  the  head, 
or  rather  the  heart  of  affairs,  that  could  not  be.  She 
was  not  one  to  regard  as  hospitality  a  readiness  to  share 
what  you  have  not ! 

Little  did  good  Doctor  Johnson  suspect  the  shifts  to 
which  some  of  the  highland  families  he  visited  were 
driven  —  not  to  feed,  but  to  house  him ;  and  housing 
in  certain  conditions  of  society  is  the  large  half  of  hos- 
pitality. Where  he  did  not  find  his  quarters  comfort- 
able, he  did  not  know  what  crowding  had  to  be  devised, 
what  inconveniences  endured  by  the  family,  that  he 
might  have  what  ease  and  freedom  were  possible.  Be 
it  in  stone  hall  or  thatched  cottage,  the  chief  must  en- 
tertain the  stranger  as  well  as  befriend  his  own !  This 
was  the  f ulfillin  g  of  his  office  —  none  the  less,  that  it 
}iad  descended  upon  him  in  evil  times.  That  seldom 
if  ever  had  a  chief  been  Chsistian  enough  or  strong 


THE    CLAN    CHRISTMAS.  169 

enough  to  fill  to  the  full  the  relation  of  father  of  'his 
people,  was  nothing  against  the  ideal  fact  in  the  existent 
relation ;  it  was  rather  for  it :  now  that  the  chieftain- 
ship had  come  to  a  man  with  a  large  notion  of  what  it 
required  of  him,  he  was  the  more,  not  the  less  ready  to 
aim  at  the  mark  of  the  idea,  he  was  not  the  more  easily 
to  be  turned  aside  from  a  true  attempt  to  live  up  to  his 
calling,  that  many  had  yielded  and  were  swept  along 
bound  slaves  in  the  triumph  of  Mammon  !  He  looked 
on  his  calling  as  entirely  enough  to  fill  full  the  life  that 
would  fulfill  the  calling.  It  was  ambition  enough  for 
him  to  be  the  head  of  his  family,  with  the  highest  of 
earthly  relations  to  realize  towards  its  members.  As  to 
the  vulgar  notion  of  obligation  to  himself,  he  had  learned 
to  despise  it. 

"  Rubbish !  "  Tan  would  say.  "  I  owe  myself  nothing. 
What  has  myself  ever  done  for  me,  but  lead  me  wrong ! 
What  but  it  has  come  between  me  and  my  duty  —  be- 
tween me  and  my  very  Father  in  heaven  —  between  me 
and  my  fellow  man !  The  fools  of  greed  would  per- 
suade that  a  man  has  no  right  to  waste  himself  in  the 
low  contest  of  making  and  sharing  a  humble  living  ;  he 
ought  to  make  money !  make  a  figure  in  the  world,  for- 
sooth !  be  somebody  !  '  Dwell  among  the  people ! ' 
Such  would  say  :  c  Bah  !  let  them  look  after  themselves ! 
If  they  cannot  pay  their  rents,  others  wfll ;  what  is  it 
to  you  if  the  rents  are  not  paid  ?  Send  them  about  their 
business ;  turn  the  land  into  a  deer-forest  or  a  sheep- 
farm,  and  clear  them  out !  They  have  no  rights  !  A 
man  is  bound  to  the  children  of  his  body  begotten,  but 
the  people  are  nothing  to  him.  A  man  is  not  his 
brother's  keeper  —  except  when  he  has  got  him  in 
prison  ! '  And  so  on,  in  the  name  of  the  great  devil !  " 

Whether  there  was  enough  in  Alister  to  have  met 


170 


and  overcome  the  spirit  of  the  world,  had  he  been 
brought  up  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  I  have  not  to 
determine  ;  there  was  that  in  him  at  least  which  would 
have  come  to  repent  bitterly  had  he  yielded ;  but 
brought  up  as  he  was,  he  was  not  only  able  to  entertain 
the  exalted  idea  presented  to  him,  but  to  receive  and 
make  it  his.  With  joy  he  recognized  the  higher  dignity 
of  the  shepherd  of  a  few  poor,  lean,  wool-torn  human 
sheep,  than  of  the  man  who  stands  for  himself,  however 
"  spacious  in  the  possession  of  dirt."  He  who  holds 
dead  land  a  possession,  and  living  -souls  none  of  his, 
needs  wake  no  curse,  for  he  is  in  the  very  pit  of  crea- 
tion, a  live  outrage  on  the  human  family. 

If  Alister  Macruadh  was  not  in  the  highest  grade  of 
Christianity,  he  was  on  his  way  thither,  for  he  was  doing 
the  work  that  was  given  him  to  do,  which  is  the  first 
Condition  of  all  advancement.  He  had  much  to  learn 
yet,  but  he  was  one  who,  from  every  point  his  feet 
touched,  was  on  the  start  to  go  further. 

The  day  of  the  holy  eve  rose  clear  and  bright.  Snow 
was  on  the  hills,  and  frost  in  the  valley.  There  had 
been  a  time  when  at  this  season  great  games  were  played 
between  neighbor  districts  or  clans  ;  but  here  there  were 
no  games  now,  because  there  were  so  few  men,  and  the 
more  active  part  fell  to  the  women.  Mistress  Macruadh 
was  busy  all  day  with  her  helpers,  preparing  a  dinner 
of  mutton,  and  beef,  and  fowls,  and  red-deer  ham  ;  and 
the  men  soon  gave  the  barn  something  of  the  aspect  of 
the  old  patriarchal  hall  for  which  it  was  no  very  poor 
substitute.  A  long  table,  covered  with  the  finest  linen, 
was  laid  for  all  comers  ;  and  when  the  guests  took  their 
places,  they  needed  no  arranging ;  all  knew  their  stand- 
ing, and  seated  themselves  according  to  knowledge. 
Two  or  three  small  farmers  took  modestly  the  upper 


THE    CLAIS"    CHRISTMAS.  171 

places  once  occupied  by  immediate  relatives  of  the 
chief,  for  of  the  old  gentry  of  the  clan  there  were  none. 
But  all  were  happy,  for  their  chief  was  witli  them  still. 
Their  reverence  was  none  the  less  that  they  were  at 
home  with  him.  They  knew  his  worth,  and  the  rough- 
est amono:  them  would  mind  what  the  Macruadh  said., 
<^  /^ 

They  knew  that  he  feared  nothing ;  that  he  was  strong 
as  the  red  stag  after  wrhich  the  clan  was  named ;  that, 
with  genuine  respect  for  every  man,  he  would  at  the 
least  insolence  knock  the  fellow  down ;  that  he  was  the 
best  shot,  the  best  sailor,  the  best  ploughman  in  the 
clan  :  I  would  have  said  the  best  swordsman,  but  that, 
except  Ian,  there  was  not  another  left  to  it. 

Not  many  of  them,  however,  understood  how  much 
he  believed  that  he  had  to  give  an  account  of  his  people. 
He  was  far  from  considering  such  responsibility  the 
clergyman's  only.  Again  and  again  had  he  expostulated 
with  some,  ^o  save  them  from  the  slow  gaping  hell  of 
drink,  and  in  one  case,  he  had  reason  to  hope,  with 
success. 

As  they  sat  at  dinner,  it  seemed  to  the  young  fellow 
who,  with  his  help,  had  so  far  been  victorious  that  the 
chief  scarcely  took  his  eyes  off  him.  One  might  think 
there  was  small  danger  where  the  hostess  allowed 
nothing  beyond  water  and  milk  but  small  ale  ;  the 
chief,  however,  was  in  dread  lest  he  should  taste  even 
that,  and  one  moment  caught  the  longing  look  he  threw 
at  the  jug  as  it  passed.  He  rose  and  went  down  the 
table,  speaking  to  this  one  and  that,  but  stopped  behind 
the  lad,  and  putting  his  arm  round  his  shoulders,  whis- 
pered in  his  ear.  He  looked  up  in  his  face  with  a  sol- 
emn smile  :  had  not  the  chief  embraced  him  before  all ! 
He  was  only  a  shepherd-lad,  but  his  chief  cared  for  him ! . 

In  the  afternoon  the  extemporized  tables  were  cleared 


172  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

away,  candles  were  fixed  in  rough  sconces  along  the 
walls,  not  without  precaution  against  fire,  and  the  floor 
was  rubbed  clean  —  for  the  barn  was  floored  throughout 
with  pine,  in  parts  polished  with  use.  The  walls  were 
already  covered  with  the  plaids  of  the  men  and  women, 
each  kept  in  place  by  a  stone  or  two  on  the  top  of  the 
wall  where  the  rafters  rested.  In  one  end  was  a  great 
heap  of  yellow  oat-straw,  which,  partly  levelled,  made 
a  most  delightful  divan.  What  with  the  straw,  the 
plaids,  the  dresses,  the  shining  of  silver  ornaments,  and 
the  flash  of  here  and  there  a  cairngorm  or  an  amethyst, 
there  was  not  a  little  color  in  the  place.  Some  of  the 
guests  were  poorly  but  all  were  decently  attired,  and 
the  shabbiest  behaved  as  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

The  party  from  the  New  House  walked  through  the 
still,  star-watched  air,  with  the  motionless  mountains 
looking  down  on  them,  and  a  silence  around,  which  they 
never  suspected  as  a  presence.  The  little  girls  were  of 
the  company,  and  there  was  much  merriment.  Foolish 
compliments  were  not  wanting,  offered  chiefly  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Sercombe,  and  accepted  on  that  of  Christina. 
The  ladies,  under  their  furs  and  hoods,  were  in  their 
best,  with  all  the  jewels  they  could  wear  at  once,  for 
they  had  heard  that  highlanders  have  a  passion  for 
color,  and  that  poor  people  are  always  best  pleased 
when  you  go  to  them  in  your  finery.  The  souls  of 
these  Sasunnachs  were  full  of  things.  They  made  a 
fine  show  as  they  emerged  from  the  darkness  of  their 
wraps  into  the  light  of  the  numerous  candles  ;  nor  did 
the  approach  of  the  widowed  chieftainess  to  receive 
them,  on  the  arm  of  Alister,  with  Ian  on  her  other  side, 
fail  in  dignity.  The  mother  was  dressed  in  a  rich, 
matronly  black  silk ;  the  chief  was  in  the  full  dress  of 
his  clan  —  the  old-fashioned  coat  of  the  French  court, 


THE    CLAN"    CHRISTMAS.  173 

with  its  silver  buttons  and  ruffles  of  fine  lace,  the  kilt 
of  Macruadh  tartan  in  which  red  predominated,  the 
silver-mounted  sporran  —  of  the  skin  and  adorned  with 
the  head  of  an  otter  caught  with  the  bare  hands  of  one 
of  his  people,  and  a  silver  mounted  dirk  of  length  un- 
usual, famed  for  the  beauty  of  both  hilt  and  blade  ;  Ian 
was  similarly  though  less  showily  clad.  When  she  saw 
the  stately  dame  advancing  between  her  sons,  one  at 
least  of  her  visitors  felt  a  doubt  whether  their  conde- 
scension would  be  fully  appreciated. 

As  soon  as  their  reception  was  over,  the  piper  —  to 
the  discomfort  of  Mr.  Sercombe's  English  ears  —  began 
his  invitation  to  the  dance,  and  in  a  moment  the  floor 
was  in  a  tumult  of  reels.  The  girls,  unacquainted  with 
their  own  country's  dances,  preferred  looking  on,  and 
after  watching  reel  and  straphspey  for  some  time,  alto- 
gether declined  attempting  either.  But  by  and  by  it 
was  the  turn  of  the  clanspeople  to  look  on  while  the 
lady  of  the  house  and  her  sons  danced  a  quadrille  or 
two  with  their  visitors ;  after  which  the  chief  and  his 
brother  pairing  with  the  two  elder  girls,  the  ladies  were 
astonished  to  find  them  the  best  they  had  ever  waltzed 
with,  although  they  did  not  dance  quite  in  the  London 
way.  Tan's  dancing,  Christina  said,  was  French; 
Mercy  said  all  she  knew  was  that  the  chief  took  the 
work  and  left  her  only  the  motion  :  she  felt  as  in  a 
dream  of  flying.  Before  the  evening  was  over,  the 
young  men  had  so  far  gained  on  Christina  that  Mr. 
Sercombe  looked  a  little  commonplace. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BETWEEN   DANCING   AND    SUPPER. 

dancing  began  about  six  o'clock,  and  at  ten  it 
JL  was  time  for  supper.  It  was  ready,  but  there 
was  no  room  for  it  except  the  barn  ;  the  dancing  there- 
fore had  to  cease  for  a  while,  that  the  table  might  again 
be  covered.  The  ladies  put  on  their  furs  and  furry 
boots  and  gloves,  and  went  out  into  the  night  with  the 
rest. 

The  laird  and  Christina  started  together,  but,  far 
from  keeping  at  her  side,  Alister  went  and  came,  now 
talking  to  this  couple,  now  to  that,  and  adding  to  the 
general  pleasure  with  every  word  he  spoke.  Ian  and 
Mercy  walked  together,  and  as  often  as  the  chief  left 
her  side,  Christina  joined  them.  Mrs.  Palmer  staid 
with  their  hostess  ;  her  husband  took  the  younger  chil- 
dren by  the  hand  ;  Mr.  Sercombe  and  Christian  saun- 
tered along  in  the  company,  talking  now  to  one,  now  to 
another  of  the  village  girls. 

All  through  the  evening  Christina  and  Mercy  noted 
how  instantly  the  word  of»the  chief  was  followed  in  the 
smallest  matter,  and  the  fact  made  its  impression  on 
them  ;  for  undeveloped  natures  in  the  presence  of  a  force 
revere  it  as  power  —  understanding  by  power,  not 
the  strength  to  create,  to  harmonize,  to  redeem,  to  dis- 
cover the  true,  to  suffer  with  patience  ;  but  the  faculty 
of  having  things  one's  own  vulgar,  self-adoring  way. 

Ian  had  not  proposed  to  Mercy  that  they  should 
174 


BETAVEEN    DANCING    AND    SUPPER.  175 

walk  together ;  but  when  the  issuing  crowd  began  to 
break  into  twos  and  threes,  they  found  themselves  side 
by  side.  The  company  took  its  way  along  the  ridge, 
and  the  road  eastward.  The  night  was  clear,  and  like 
a  great  sapphire  frosted  with  topazes  —  reminding  Ian 
that,  solid  as  is  the  world  under  our  feet,  it  hangs  in  the 
will  of  God.  Mercy  and  he  walked  for  some  time  in 
silence.  It  was  a  sudden  change  from  the  low  barn, 
the  dull  candles,  and  the  excitement  of  the  dance,  to 
the  awful  space,  the  clear  pure  far-off  lights,  and  the 
great  stillness.  Both  felt  it,  though  differently.  There 
was  in  both  of  them  the  quest  after  peace.  It  is  not 
the  banished  demon  only  that  wanders  seeking  rest,  but 
souls  upon  souls,  and  in  ever  growing  numbers.  The 
world  and  Hades  swarm  with  them.  They  long  after  a 
repose  that  is  not  mere  cessation  of  labor :  there  is  a 
positive,  an  active  rest.  Mercy  was  only  beginning  to 
seek  it,  and  that  without  knowing  what  it  was  she 
needed.  Ian  sought  it  in  silence  with  God  ;  she  in 
crepitant  intercourse  with  her  kind.  Naturally  ready 
to  fall  into  gloom,  but  healthy  enough  to  avoid  it,  she 
would  rush  at  anything  to  do  —  not  to  keep  herself 
from  thinking,  for  she  had  hardly  begun  to  think,  but 
to  escape  that  heavy  sense  of  non-existence,  that  weary 
and  restless  want  which  is  the  only  form  life  can  take 
to  the  yet  unliving,  those  who  have  not  yet  awaked 
and  arisen  from  the  dead.  She  was  a  human  chicken 
that  had  begun  to  be  aware  of  herself,  but  had  not  yet 
attacked  the  shell  that  enclosed  her :  because  it  was 
transparent,  and  she  could  see  life  about  her,  she  did 
not  know  that  she  was  in  a  shell,  or  that,  if  she  did  not 
put  forth  the  might  of  her  own  life,  she  was  sealing 
herself  up  :  a  life  in  death,  in  her  antenatal  coffin. 
Many  who  think  themselves  free  have  never  yet  even 


176  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

seen  the  shell  that  imprisons  them  —  know  nothing  of 
the  liberty  wherewith  the  Lord  of  our  life  would  set 
them  free.  Men  fight  many  a  phantom  when  they 
ought  to  be  chipping  at  their  shells.  "  Thou  art  the 
dreamer ! "  they  cry  to  him  who  would  wake  them. 
"  See  how  diligent  we  are  to  get  on  in  the  world ! 
We  labor  as  if  we  should  never  go  out  of  it."  What 
they  call  the  world  is  but  their  shell,  which  is  all  the 
time  killing  the  infant  Christ  that  houses  with  them ! 

Ian  looked  up  to  the  sky,  and  breathed  a  deep 
breath.  Mercy  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  saw  his 
strangely  beautiful  smile. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Captain  Macruadh  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  answered,  "  that  perhaps  up 
there "  —  he  waved  his  arm  wide  over  his  head  — 
"  might  be  something  like  room ;  but  I  doubt  it,  I 
doubt  it ! " 

Naturally,  Mercy  was  puzzled.  The  speech  sounded 
quite  mad,  and  yet  he  could  not  be  mad,  he  had  danced 
so  well !  She  took  comfort  that  her  father  was  close 
behind. 

"  Did  you  never  feel,"  he  resumed,  "  as  if  you  could 
not  anyhow  get  room  enough  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Mercy,  "  never." 

Ian  fell  a  thinking  how  to  wake  in  her  a  feeling  of 
what  he  meant.  He  had  perceived  that  one  of  the  first 
elements  in  human  education  is  the  sense  of  space  —  of 
which  sense,  probably,  the  star-dwelt  heaven  is  the  first 
awakener.  He  believed  that  without  the  heavens  we 
could  not  have  learned  the  largeness  in  things  below 
them,  could  not,  for  instance,  have  felt  the  mystery  of 
the  high-ascending  gothic  roof  —  for  without  the  greater 
we  cannot  interpret  the  less ;  and  he  thought  that  to 


BETWEEN    DANCING    AND    SUPPEK.  177 

have  the  sense  of  largeness  developed  might  be  to  come 
a  little  nearer  to  the  truth  of  things,  to  the  recognition 
of  spiritual  relations. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anything  very  big?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  suppose  London  is  as  big  as  most  things  !  "  she 
answered,  after  a  moment. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  London  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  We  generally  live  there  half  the  year." 

"  Pardon  me  ;  I  did  not  ask  if  you  had  ever  been  to 
London,"  said  Ian ;  "  but  if  you  had  ever  seen  London." 

"  I  know  the  west  end  pretty  well." 

"  Did  it  ever  strike  you  as  very  large  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  the  west  end  is  only  a  part  of 
London." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  London  from  the  top  of  St. 
Paul's  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  it  from  the  top  of  Hampstead- 
heath?" 

"  I  have  been  there  several  times,  but  I  don't  remem- 
ber seeing  London  from  it.  We  don't  go  to  London 
for  the  sights." 

"  Then  you  have  not  seen  London  !  " 

Mercy  was  annoyed.  Ian  did  not  see  that  she  was, 
else  perhaps  he  would  not  have  gone  on  —  which  would 
have  been  a  pity,  for  a  little  annoyance  would  do  her 
no  harm.  At  the  same  time  the  mood  was  not  favor- 
able to  receiving  any  impression  from  the  region  of  the 
things  that  are  not  seen.  A  pause  followed. 

"  It  is  so  delightful,"  said  Ian  at  length,  "  to  come 
out  of  the  motion  and  the  heat  and  the  narrowness  into 
the  still,  cold  greatness  !" 

"  You  seem  to  be  enjoying  yourself  pretty  well  not- 
withstanding, Captain  Macruadh !  " 


178  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  What  made  you  think  so  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to 
her  with  a  smile. 

"  You  were  so  merry  —  not  with  me  —  you  think  me 
only  a  stupid  lowland  girl ;  but  the  other  young  persons 
you  danced  with,  laughed  very  much  at  things  you  said 
to  them." 

"  You  are  right ;  I  did  enjoy  myself.  As  often  as 
one  comes  near  a  simple  human  heart,  one's  own  heart 
finds  a  little  room." 

Ere  she  knew,  Mercy  had  said  — 

"  And  you  didn't  find  any  room  with  me  ?  " 

With  the  sound  of  her  words  her  face  grew  hot,  as 
with  a  furnace-blast,  even  in  the  frosty  night-air.  She 
would  have  covered  what  she  had  said,  but  only  stam- 
mered. Ian  turned,  and  looking  at  her,  said  with  a 
gentle  gravity  — 

"  You  must  not  be  offended  with  me !  I  must  an- 
swer you  truly. —  You  do  not  give  me  room :  have  you 
not  just  told  me  you  never  longed  for  any  yourself  ?  " 

"  One  ought  to  be  independent !  "  said  Mercy,  a  little 
nettled. 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  What  is  called  independ- 
ence may  really  be  want  of  sympathy.  That  would 
indicate  a  kind  of  loneliness  anything  but  good." 

"  I  wish  you  would  find  a  less  disagreeable  companion 
then !  —  one  that  would  at  least  be  as  good  as  nobody  ! 
I  am  sorry  I  don't  know  how  to  give  you  room.  I 
would  if  I  could.  Tell  me  how." 

Again  Ian  turned  to  her :  was  it  possible  there  were 
tears  in  her  voice?  But  her  black  eyes  were  flashing  in 
the  starlight ! 

"Did  you  ever  read  Zanoni?"  he  asked. 

«  I  never  heard  of  it.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  romance  of  Bulwer's." 


BETWEEN    DANCING    AND    SUPPER.  179 

"  My  father  won't  let  us  read  anything  of  Bulwer's. 
Does  he  write  very  wicked  books  ?  " 

"  The  one  I  speak  of,"  said  Ian,  "  is  not  wicked, 
though  it  is  full  of  rubbish,  and  its  religion  is  very 
false." 

Whether  Mercy  meant  to  take  her  revenge  on  him 
with  consciously  bad  logic,  I  am  in  doubt. 

"  Captain  Macruadh !  you  astonish  me !  A  Scotchman 
speak  so  of  religion  !  " 

"  I  spoke  of  the  religion  in  that  book.  I  said  it  was 
false  —  which  is  the  same  as  saying  it  was  not  religion." 

"  Then  all  religion  is  not  true !  " 

"  All  true  religion  is  true,"  said  Ian,  inclined  to  laugh 
like  one  that  thought  to  catch  an  angel,  and  had 
clutched  a  bat !  I  was  going  on  to  say  that,  though  the 
religion  and  philosophy  of  the  book  were*  rubbish,  the 
story  was  fundamentally  a  grand  conception.  It  puz- 
zles me  to  think  how  a  man  could,  start  with  such  an 
idea,  and  work  it  out  so  well,  and  yet  be  so  lacking 
both  in  insight  and  logic.  It  is  wonderful  how  much 
of  one  portion  of  our  nature  may  be  developed  along 
with  so  little  of  another !  " 

"  What  is  the  story  about  ?  "  Mercy  asked. 

"  What  I  may  call  the  canvas  of  it,  speaking  as  if  it 
were  a  picture,  is  the  idea  that  the  whole  of  space  is 
full  of  life ;  that,  as  the  smallest  drop  of  water  is 
crowded  with  monsters  of  hideous  forms  and  disposi- 
tions, so  is  what  we  call  space  full  of  living  crea- 
tures,—  " 

"  How  horrible !  " 

"  —  not  all  monsters,  however.  There  are  among 
them  creatures  not  altogether  differing  from  us,  but 
differing  much  from  each  other," — 

"  As  much  as  you  and  I  ?  " 


180  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  —  some  of  them  lovely  and  friendly,  others  fright- 
ful in  their  beauty  and  malignity,  —  " 

"  What  nonsense  !  " 

"  Why  do  you  call  it  nonsense  ?  " 

"  How  could  anything  beautiful  be  frightful  ?  " 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  said  beautiful.  But  the  fright- 
fulest  face  I  ever  saw  ought  to  have  been  the  finest. 
When  the  lady  that  owned  it  spoke  to  me,  I  shivered." 

"  But  anyhow  the  whole  thing  is  nonsense  !  " 

"  How  is  it  nonsense  ?  " 

"  Because  there  are  no  such  creatures." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  Another  may  have  seen 
them  though  you  and  I  never  did !  " 

"  You  are  making  game  of  me  !  You  think  to  make 
me  believe  anything  you  choose  !  " 

"  Will  you  tell  me  something  you  do  believe  ?  " 

"  That  you  may  prove  immediately  that  I  do  not  be- 
lieve it  ! "  she  retorted,  with  more  insight  than  he  had 
expected.  "  —  You  are  not  very  entertaining  !  " 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  tell  you  a  story  then  ?  " 

"  Will  it  be  nonsense  ?  " 

"No." 

"I  should  like  a  little  nonsense." 

"  You  are  an  angel  of  goodness,  and  as  wise  as  you 
are  lovely  !  "  said  Ian. 

She  turned  upon  him,  and  opened  wide  at  him  her 
great  black  eyes,  in  which  were  mingled  defiance  and 
question. 

"  Your  reasoning  is  worthy  of  your  intellect.  When 
you  dance,"  he  went  on,  looking  very  solemn,  "  your 
foot  would  not  bend  the  neck  of  a  daisy  asleep  in  its 
rosy  crown.  The  west  wind  of  May  haunts  you  with 
its  twilight-odors  ;  and  when  you  waltz,  so  have  I  seen 
the  waterspout  gyrate  on  the  blue  floor  of  the  Medit- 


BETWEEN    DANCING    AND    SUPPER.  181 

terranean.  Your  voice  is  as  the  harp  of  Selma ;  and 
when  you  look  out  of  your  welkin  eyes  —  no  !  there  I 
am  wrong !  Allow  me  !  —  ah,  I  thought  so  !  —  dark  as 
Erebus  !  —  But  what !  " 

For  Mercy,  perceiving  at  last  that  he  was  treating 
her  like  the  silliest  of  small  girls,  lost  her  patience,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"  You  are  dreadfully  rude  !  "  she  sobbed. 

Ian  was  vexed  with  himself. 

"  You  asked  me  to  talk  nonsense  to  you,  Miss  Mercy ! 
I  attempted  to  obey  you,  and  have  done  it  stupidly. 
But  at  least  it  was  absolute  nonsense  !  Shall  I  make  up 
for  it  by  telling  you  a  pretty  story  ?  " 

"  Anything,  to  put  away  that !  "  answered  Mercy, 
trying  to  smile. 

He  began  at  once,  and  told  her  a  wonderful  tale  — 
told  first  after  this  fashion  by  Rob  of  the  Angels,  at  a 
winter-night  gathering  of  the  women,  as  they  carded 
and  spun  their  wool,  and  reeled  their  yarn  together. 
It  was  one  well-known  in  the  country,  but  Rob  had 
filled  it  after  his  fancy  with  imaginative  turns  and  spir- 
itual hints,  inappreciable  by  the  tall  child  of  seventeen 
walking  by  lan's  side.  There  was  not  among  the 
maidens  of  the  poor  village  one  who  would  not  have  un- 
derstood it  better  than  she.  It  took  her  fancy  notwith- 
standing, partly,  perhaps,  from  its  unlikeness  to  any  story 
she  had  ever  heard  before.  Her  childhood  had  been 
starved  on  the  husks  of  new  fairy-tales,  all  invention 
and  no  imagination,  than  which  more  unnourishing  food 
was  never  offered  to  God's  children. 

Here  is  the  story  Ian  told  her  under  that  skyful  of 
stars,  as  Rob  of  the  Angels  had  dressed  it  for  the  clan 
matrons  and  maidens,  altered  a  little  again  for  the  ears 
of  the  lowland  girl. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    DOG-KENNEL. 

was  once  a  woman  whose  husband  was  well 
JL  to  do,  but  he  died  and  left  her,  and  then  she  sank 
into  poverty.  She  did  her  best ;  but  she  had  a  large 
family,  and  work  was  hard  to  find,  and  hard  to  do  when 
it- was  found,  and  hardly  paid  when  it  was  done.  Only 
hearts  of  grace  can  understand  the  struggles  of  the 
poor  —  with  everything  but  God  against  them  !  But 
she  trusted  in  God,  and  said  whatever  he  pleased  must 
be  right,  whether  he  sent  it  with  his  own  hand  or  not. 
"Now,  whether  it  was  that  she  could  not  find  them 
enough  to  eat,  or  that  she  could  not  keep  them  warm 
enough,  I  do  not  know  ;  I  do  not  think  it  was  that  they 
had  not  gladness  enough,  which  is  as  necessary  for 
young  things  as  food  and  air  and  sun,  I  hardly  think  it, 
for  it  is  wonderful  on  how  little  a  child  can  be  happy  ; 
but,  whatever  was  the  cause,  they  began  to  die.  One 
after  the  other  sickened  and  lay  down,  and  did  not  rise 
again  ;  and  for  a  time  her  life  was  just  a  waiting  upon 
death.  She  would  have  wanted  to  die  herself,  but  that 
there  was  always  another  to  die  first ;  she  had  to  see 
them  all  safe  home  before  she  dared  wish  to  go  herself. 
But  at  length  the  last  of  them  was  gone,  and  then  when 
she  had  no  more  to  provide  for,  the  heart  of  work  went 
out  of  her :  where  was  the  good  of  working  for  herself  ! 
there  was  no  interest  in  it !  But  she  knew  it  was  the 
will  of  God  she  should  work  and  eat  until  he  chose  to 
182 


THE    DOG-KENNEL.  183 

take  her  back  to  himself ;  so  she  worked  on  for  her  liv- 
ing while  she  would  much  rather  have  worked  for  her 
dying ;  and  comforted  herself  that  every  day  brought 
death  a  day  nearer.  Then  she  fell  ill  herself,  and  could 
work  no  more,  and  thought  God  was  going  to  let  her 
die,  for,  able  to  win  her  bread  no  longer,  surely  she 
was  free  to  lie  down  and  wait  for  death !  But  just  as 
she  was  going  to  her  bed  for  the  last  time,  she  be- 
thought herself  that  she  was  bound  to  give  her  neigh- 
bor the  chance  of  doing  a  good  deed  ;  and  felt  that  any 
creature  dying  at  her  door  without  letting  her  know  he 
was  in  want,  would  do  her  a  great  wrong.  She  saw  it 
was  the  will  of  God  that  she  should  beg,  so  put  on 
her  clothes  again,  and  went  out  to  beg.  It  was  sore 
work,  and  she  said  so  to  the  priest.  But  the  priest  told 
her  she  need  not  mind,  for  our  Lord  himself  lived  by 
the  kindness  of  the  women  who  went  about  with  him. 
They  knew  he  could  not  make  a  living  for  his  own 
body  and  a  living  for  the  souls  of  so  many  as  well,  and 
the  least  they  could  do  was  to  keep  him  alive  who  was 
making  them  alive.  She  said  that  was  very  true  ;  but 
he  was  all  the  time  doing  everything  for  everybody, 
and  she  was  doing  nothing  for  anybody.  The  priest 
was  a  wise  man,  and  did  not  tell  her  how  she  had,  since 
ever  he  knew  her,  been  doing  the  work  of  God  in  his 
heart,  helping  him  to  believe  and  trust  in  God  ;  so  that 
in  fact,  when  he  was  preaching,  she  was  preaching.  He 
did  not  tell  her  that,  I  say,  for  he  was  jealous  over  her 
beauty,  and  would  have  Christ's  beloved  sheep  enter  his 
holy  kingdom  with  her  wool  white,  however  torn  it 
might  be.  So  he  left  her  to  think  she  was  nobody  at 
all ;  and  told  her  that,  whether  she  was  worth  keeping 
alive  or  not,  whether  she  was  worth  begging  for  or  not, 
whether  it  was  a  disgrace  or  an  honor  to  beg,  all  was 


184  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

one,  for  it  was  the  will  of  God  that  she  should  beg,  and 
there  was  no  word  more  to  be  said,  and  no  thought 
more  to  be  thought  about  it.  To  this  she  agreed, 
and  did  beg  —  enough  to  keep  her  alive,  and  no  more. 

"  But  at  last  she  saw  she  must  leave  that  part  of  the 
country,  and  go  back  to  the  place  her  husband  took  her 
from.  For  the  people  about  her  were  very  poor,  and 
she  thought  it  hard  on  them  to  have  to  help  a  stranger 
like  her  ;  also  her  own  people  would  want  her  to  bury. 
For  you  must  know  that  in  the  clans,  marriage  was 
thought  to  be  dissolved  by  death,  so  far  at  least  as  the 
body  was  concerned ;  therefore  the  body  of  a  dead  wife 
was  generally  carried  back  to  the  burial  place  of  her 
own  people,  there  to  be  gathered  to  her  fathers.  So  the 
woman  set  out  for  her  own  country,  begging  her  way 
thither.  Nor  had  she  any  difficulty,  for  there  were  not 
a  few  poor  people  on  her  way,  and  the  poor  are  the 
readiest  to  help  the  poor,  also  to  know  whether  a  per- 
son is  one  that  ought  to  be  helped  or  not. 

"  One  night  she  came  to  a  farm  house  where  a  rich 
miserly  farmer  dwelt.  She  knew  about  him,  and  had 
not  meant  to  stop  there,  but  she  was  weary,  and  the 
sun  went  down  as  she  reached  his  gate,  and  she  felt  as 
if  she  could  go  no  farther.  So  she  went  up  to  the  door 
and  knocked,  and  asked  if  she  could  have  a  night's 
lodging.  The  woman  who  opened  to  her  went  and 
asked  the  farmer.  Now  the  old  man  did  not  like  hospi- 
tality, and  in  particular  to  such  as  stood  most  in  need  of 
it ;  he  did  not  enjoy  throwing  away  money  !  At  the  same 
time,  however,  he  was  very  fond  of  hearing  all  the 
country  rumors;  and  he  thought  with  himself  he  would 
buy  her  news  with  a  scrap  of  what  was  going,  and  a 
shake-down  at  the  foot  of  the  wall.  So  he  told  his  ser- 
vant to  bring  her  in. 


THE    DOG-KENNEL.  185 

"  He  received  her  not  unkindly,  for  he  wanted  her  to 
talk ;  and  he  let  her  have  a  share  of  the  supper,  such  as 
it  was.  But  not  until  he  had  asked  every  question 
about  everybody  he  could  think  of,  and  drawn  her  own 
history  from  her  as  well,  would  he  allow  her  to  have 
the  rest  she  so  much  needed. 

"  Now  it  was  a  poor  house,  like  most  in  the  country, 
and  nearly  without  partitions.  The  old  man  had  his 
warm  box-bed,  and  slept  on  feathers  where  no  draught 
could  reach  him,  and  the  poor  woman  had  her  bed  of 
short  rumpled  straw  on  the  earthen  floor  at  the  foot  of 
the  wall  in  the  coldest  corner.  Yet  the  heart  of  the 
man  had  been  moved  by  her  story,  for,  without  dwell- 
ing on  her  sufferings,  she  had  been  honest  in  telling  it. 
He  had  indeed,  ere  he  went  to  sleep,  thanked  God  that 
he  was  so  much  better  off  than  she.  For  if  he  did  not 
think  it  the  duty  of  the  rich  man  to  share  with  his 
neighbors,  he  at  least  thought  it  his  duty  to  thank  God 
for  being  richer  than  they. 

"  Now  it  may  well  seem  strange  that  such  a  man 
should  be  privileged  to  see  a  vision  ;  should  be  the  por- 
tion of  such  a  man  ;  we  read  in  the  Bible  of  a  prophet 
who  did  not  even  know  his  duty  to  an  ass,  so  that  the 
ass  had  to  teach  it  him.  And  the  man  alone  saw  the 
vision  ;  the  woman  saw  nothing  of  it.  But  she  did  not 
require  to  see  any  vision,  for  she  had  truth  in  the  in- 
ward parts,  which  is  better  than  all  visions.  The  vision 
was  on  this  wise  —  In  the  middle  of  the  night  the  man 
came  wide  awake,  and  looking  out  of  his  bed,  saw  the 
door  open  and  a  light  come  in,  burning  like  a  star,  of  a 
faint  rosy  color,  unlike  any  light  he  had  ever  before 
seen.  Another  and  another  came  in,  and  more  yet,  un- 
till  he  counted  six  of  them.  They  moved  near  the  floor, 
but  he  could  not  see  clearly  what  sort  of  little  crea- 


186  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

tures  they  were  that  were  carrying  them.  They  went 
up  to  the  woman's  bed,  and  slowly  walked  round  it,  in 
a  hovering  kind  of  a  way,  stopping,  and  moving  up  and 
down,  and  going  on  again  ;  and  when  they  had  done 
this  three  times  they  went  slowly  out  of  the  door  again, 
stopping  for  a  moment  several  times  as  they  went. 

"  He  fell  asleep,  and  waking  not  very  early,  was  sur- 
prised to  see  his  guest  still  on  her  hard  couch  —  as  quiet 
as  any  rich  woman,  he  said  to  himself,  on  her  feather 
bed.  He  woke  her,  told  her  he  wondered  she  should 
sleep  so  far  into  the  morning,  and  narrated  the  curious 
vision  he  had  had.  *  Does  not  that  explain  to  you,' 
she  said,  '  how  it  is  that  I  have  slept  so  long  ?  Those 
were  my  dead  children  you  saw  come  to  me.  They 
died  young,  without  any  sin,  and  God  lets  them  come 
and  comfort  their  poor  sinful  mother.  I  often  see  them 
in  my  dreams.  If,  when  I  am  gone,  you  will  look  at 
my  bed,  you  will  find  every  straw  laid  straight  and 
smooth.  That  is  what  they  were  doing  last  night.' 
Then  she  gave  him  thanks  for  good  fare  and  good  rest, 
and  took  her  way  to  her  own,  leaving  the  farmer  better 
pleased  with  himself  than  he  had  been  for  a  long  time, 
partly  because  there  had  been  granted  him  a  vision 
from  heaven. 

"  At  last  the  woman  died,  and  was  carried  by  angels 
into  Abraham's  bosom.  She  was  now  with  her  own 
people  indeed,  that  is,  with  God  and  all  the  good.  The 
old  farmer  did  not  know  of  her  death  till  a  long  time 
after  ;  but  it  was  upon  the  night  she  died,  as  near  as  he 
could  then  make  out,  that  he  dreamed  a  wonderful 
dream.  He  never  told  it  to  any  but  the  priest  from 
whom  he  sought  of  comfort  when  he  lay  dying  ;  and  the 
priest  did  nor  tell  it  till  after  everybody  belonging  to 
the  old  man  was  gone.  This  was  the  dream :  — 


THE    DOG-KENNEL.  187 

"  He  was  lying  awake  in  his  own  bed,  as  he  thought, 
in  the  dark  night,  when  the  poor  woman  came  in  at  the 
door,  having  in  her  hand  a  wax  candle,  but  not  alight. 
He  said  to  her,  '  You  extravagant  woman !  where  did 
you  get  that  candle  ?  '  She  answered,  '  It  was  put  into 
my  hand  when  I  died,  with  the  word  that  I  was  to 
wander  till  I  found  a  fire  at  which  to  light  it.'  '  There ! ' 
said  he,  « there's  the  rested  fire  !  Blow  and  get  a  light,' 
poor  thing !  It  shall  never  be  said  I  refused  a  body  a 
light ! '  She  went  to  the  hearth,  and  began  to  blow  at 
the  smouldering  peat ;  but  for  all  she  kept  trying  she 
could  not  light  her  candle.  The  old  man  thought  it 
was  because  she  was  dead,  not  because  he  was  dead  in  sin, 
and  losing  his  patience,  cried,  '  You  foolish  woman  ! 
haven't  you  wit  enough  to  light  a  candle  ?  It's  small 
wonder  you  came  to  beggary  ! '  Still  she  went  on  try- 
ing, but  the  more  she  tried,  the  blacker  grew  the  peat  she 
was  blowing  at.  It  would  indeed  blaze  up  at  her  breath, 
but  the  moment  she  brought  the  candle  near  it  to  catch 
the  flame,  it  grew  black,  and  each  time  blacker  than  be- 
fore. '  Tut !  give  me  the  candle,'  cried  the  farmer, 
springing  out  of  bed ;  '  I  will  light  it  for  you ! '  But  as 
he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  take  it,  the  woman  disap- 
peared, and  he  saw  that  the  fire  was  dead  out.  '  Here's 
a  fine  business  ! '  he  said.  '  How  am  I  to  get  a  light  ? ' 
For  they  were  miles  from  the  next  house.  And  with 
that  he  turned  to  go  back  to  his  bed.  When  he  came 
near  it,  he  saw  somebody  lying  in  it.  'What!  has  the 
carline  got  into  my  very  bed  ? '  he  cried,  and  went  to 
drive  her  out  of  the  bed  and  out  of  the  house.  But 
when  he  came  close,  he  saw  it  was  himself  lying  there, 
and  at  least  knew  that  he  was  out  of  the  body,  if  not 
downright  dead.  The  next  moment  he  found  himself  on 
the  moor,  following  the  woman,  some  distance  before 


188  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

him,  with  her  unlighted  candle  still  in  her  hand.  He 
walked  as  fast  as  he  could  to  get  up  with  her,  but  could 
not ;  he  called  after  her,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  hear. 
"  When  first  he  set  out,  he  knew  every  step  of  the 
ground,  but  by  and  by  he  ceased  to  know  it.  The 
moor  stretched  out  endlessly,  and  the  woman  walked  on 
and  on.  Without  a  thought  of  turning  back,  he  fol- 
lowed. At  length  he  saw  a  gate,  seemingly  in  the  side 
of  a  hill.  The  woman  knocked,  and  by  the  time  it 
opened,  he  was  near  enough  to  hear  what  passed.  It 
was  a  grave  and  stately,  but  very  happy-looking  man 
that  opened  it,  and  he  knew  at  once  that  it  was  St.  Peter. 
When  he  saw  the  woman,  he  stooped  and  kissed  her. 
The  same  moment  a  light  shone  from  her,  and  the  old 
man  thought  her  candle  was  lighted  at  last ;  but  pres- 
ently he  saw  it  was  her  head  that  gave  out  the  shining. 
And  he  heard  her  say,  c  I  pray  you,  St.  Peter,  re- 
member the  rich  tenant  of  Balmacoy ;  he  gave  me 
shelter  one  whole  night,  and  would  have  let  me  light 
my  candle,  but  I  could  not.'  St.  Peter  answered/  His  fire 
was  not  fire  enough  to  light  your  candle,  and  the  bed 
he  gave  you  was  of  short  straw ! '  '  True,  St.  Peter,5 
said  the  woman,  '  but  he  gave  me  some  supper,  and  it 
is  hard  for  a  rich  man  to  be  generous  !  You  may  say 
the  supper  was  not  very  good,  but  at  least  it  was  more 
than  a  cup  of  cold  water  ! '  i  Yes,  verily  ! '  answered 
the  saint,  '  but  he  did  not  give  it  you  because  you  loved 
God,  or  because  you  were  in  need  of  it,  but  because  he 
wanted  to  hear  your  news.'  Then  the  woman  was  sad, 
for  she  could  not  think  of  anything  more  to  say  for  the 
poor  old  rich  man.  And  St.  Peter  saw  that  she  was 
sad,  and  said,  '  But  if  he  dies  to-night,  he  shall  have  a 
place  inside  the  gate,  because  you  pray  for  him.  He 
shall  lie  there  ! '  And  he  pointed  to  just  such  a  bed  of 


THE    DOG-KEXNEL.  189 

short  crumpled  straw  as  she  had  lain  upon  in  his  house. 
But  sKe  said,  c  St  Peter,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself !  Is  that  the  kind  of  welcome  to  give  a  poor 
man  ?  '  c  Where  then  would  he  have  lain  if  I  had  not 
prayed  for  him  ? '  c  In  the  dog-kennel  outside  there,' 
answered  St.  Peter.  c  Oh,  then,  please,  let  me  go  back 
and  warn  him  what  comes  of  loving  money ! '  she 
pleaded.  c  That  is  not  necessary,'  he  replied  ;  c  the  man 
is  hearing  every  word  you  and  I  are  this  moment  say- 
ing to  each  other.'  '  I  am  so  glad ! '  rejoined  the  woman  ; 
'  it  will  make  him  repent.'  '  He  will  not  be  a  straw 
the  better  for  it ! '  answered  the  saint.  '  He  thinks  now 
that  he  will  do  differently,  and  perhaps  when  he  wakes 
will  think  so  still :  but  in  a  day  or  two  he  will  mock 
at  it  as  a  foolish  dream.  To  gather  money  will  seem  to 
him  common  sense,  and  to  lay  up  treasure  in  heaven 
nonsense.  A  bird  in  the  hand  will  be  to  him  worth  ten 
in  the  heavenly  bush.  And  the  end  of  that  will  be  he 
will  not  get  the  straw  inside  the  gate,  and  there  will  be 
many  worse  places  than  the  dog-kennel  too  good  for 
him  ! '  With  that  he  woke. 

" '  What  an  odd  dream  ! '  he  said  to  himself.  « I  had 
better  mind  what  I  am  about ! '  So  he  was  better  that 
day,  eating  and  drinking  more  freely,  and  giving  more 
to  his  people.  But  the  rest  of  the  week  he  was  worse 
than  ever,  trying  to  save  what  he  had  that  day  spent, 
and  so  he  went  on  growing  worse.  When  he  found 
himself  dying,  the  terror  of  his  dream  came  upon  him, 
and  he  told  all  to  the  priest.  But,  the  priest  could  not 
comfort  him." 

By  the  time  the  story  was  over,  to  which  Mercy  had 
listened  without  a  word,  they  were  alone  in  the  great 
starry  night,  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  with  the  snow  high 
above  them,  and  the  heavens  above  the  snow,  and  the 


190  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

stars  above  the  heavens,  and  God  above  and  below 
everything.  Only  Ian  felt  his  presence.  Mercy  had 
not  missed  him  yet. 

She  did  not  see  much  in  the  tale  :  how  could  she  ? 
It  was  very  odd,  she  thought,  but  not  very  interesting. 
She  had  expected  a  tale  of  clan-feud,  or  a  love-story  ! 
Yet  the  seriousness  of  her  companion  in  its  narration 
had  made  an  impression  upon  her. 

"  They  told  me  you  were  an  officer ;  "  she  said,  "  but 
I  see  you  are  a  clergyman !  Do  you  tell  stories  like 
that  from  the  pulpit  ?  " 

"I  am  a  soldier,"  answered  Ian,  "not  a  clergyman. 
But  I  have  heard  my  father  tell  such  a  story  from  the 
pulpit." 

Ian  imagined  himself  foiled  in  his  attempt  to  interest 
the  maiden.  If  he  was,  it  would  not  be  surprising. 
He  had  not  the  least  desire  to  commend  himself  'to  the 
girl ;  and  he  would  not  talk  rubbish  even  to  a  child. 
There  is  sensible  and  senseless  nonsense,  good  absurdity 
and  bad. 

As  Mercy  recounted  to  her  sister  the  story  Ian  had 
told  her,  it  certainly  was  silly  enough.  She  had  re- 
tained but  the  withered  stalk  and  leaves ;  but  the 
strange  flower  was  gone.  Christina  .judged  it  hardly  a 
story  for  a  gentleman  to  tell  a  lady. 

They  returned  almost  in  silence,  to  find  the  table 
laid,  a  plentiful  supper  spread,  and  the  company  seated. 
After  supper  came  singing  of  songs,  saying  of  ballads, 
and  telling  of  tales.  I  know  with  what  incredulity 
many  highlanders  will  read  of  a  merry-making  in  their 
own  country  at  which  no  horn  went  round,  no  punch- 
bowl was  filled  and  emptied  without  stint !  But  the 
clearer  the  brain,  the  better  justice  is  done  to  the  more 
ethereal  wine  of  the  soul.  Of  several  of  the  old  songs 


THE    DOG-KENNEL.  191 

Christina  begged  the  tunes,  but  was  disappointed  to  find 
that,  as  she  could  not  take  them  down,  so  the  singers 
of  them  could  not  set  them  down.  In  the  tales  she 
found  no  interest.  The  hostess  sang  to  her  harp,  and 
made  to  revering  listeners  eloquent  music,  for  her  high 
clear  tones  had  not  yet  lost  their  sweetness,  and  she  had 
some  art  to  come  in  aid  of  her  much  feeling ;  and  loud 
murmurs  of  delight,  in  the  soft  strange  tongue  of  the 
songs  themselves,  followed  the  profound  silence  with 
which  they  were  heard  ;  but  Christina  wondered  what 
there  was  to  applaud.  She  could  not  herself  sing  with- 
out accompaniment,  and  when  she  left  it  was  with  a  re- 
gretful feeling  that  she  had  not  distinguished  herself. 
Naturally,  as  they  went  home,  the  guests  from  the  New 
House  had  much  fun  over  the  queer  fashions  and  pov- 
erty-stricken company,  the  harp  and  the  bagpipes,  the 
horrible  haggis,  the  wild  minor-songs,  and  the  unintelli- 
gible stories  and  jokes  ;  but  the  ladies  agreed  that  the 
chief  was  a  splendid  fellow, 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BOB   OF    THE    ANGELS. 

A  MONG  the  peasantry  assembled  at  the  feast,  were 
-£•*-  two  that  had  neither  danced,  nor  seated  them- 
selves at  the  long  table  where  all  were  welcome.  Mercy- 
wondered  what  might  be  the  reason  of  their  separation. 
Her  first  thought  was  that  they  must  be  somehow,  she 
could  not  well  imagine  how,  in  lower  position  than  any 
of  the  rest  —  had  perhaps  offended  against  the  law, 
perhaps  been  in  prison,  and  so  the  rest  would  not  keep 
company  with  them  ;  or  perhaps  they  were  beggars  who 
did  not  belong  to  the  clan,  and  therefore,  although  fed, 
were  not  allowed  to  eat  with  it !  But  she  soon  saw  she 
must  be  wrong  in  each  conjecture  ;  for  if  there  was  any 
avoiding,  it  was  on  the  part  of  the  two  :  every  one,  it 
was  clear,  was  almost  on  the  alert  to  wait  upon  them. 
They  seemed  indeed  rather  persons  of  distinction  than 
outcasts ;  for  it  was  with  something  like  homage,  except 
for  a  certain  coaxing  tone  in  the  speech  of  the  mini- 
strants,  that  they  were  attended.  They  had  to  help 
themselves  to  nothing  ;  everything  was  carried  to  them. 
Now  one,  now  another,  where  all  were  guests  and  all 
were  servants,  would  rise  from  the  table  to  offer  them 
something,  or  see  what  they  would  choose  or  might 
be  in  want  of,  while  they  partook  with  the  same  dig- 
nity and  self-restraint  that  was  to  be  noted  in  all. 

The  elder  was  a  man  about  five-and-fifty,  tall  and 
lean,  with  a  wiry  frame,  dark  grizzled  hair,  and  a 

192 


KOB    OF    THE    ANGELS.  193 

shaven  face.  His  dress,  which  was  in  the  style  of  the 
country,  was  very  poor,  but  decent ;  only  his  plaid  was 
large  and  thick,  and  bright  compared  with  the  rest  of 
his  apparel :  it  was  a  present  lie  had  had  from  his  clan 

—  some  giving  the  wool,  and  others  the  labor  in  carding, 
dyeing  and  weaving  it.     He  carried  himself  like  a  sol- 
dier —  which  he  had  never  been,  though  his  father  had. 
His  eyes  were  remarkably  clear  and  keen,  and  the  way 
he  used  them  could  hardly  fail  to  attract  attention. 
Every  now  and  then  they  would  suddenly  fix  them- 
selves with  a  gaze  of  earnest  inquiry,   which   would 
either  grow  to  perception,  or  presently  melt  away  and 
let  his  glance  go  gently  roving,  ready  to  receive  but 
looking  for  nothing.     His  face  was  very  brown  and 
healthy,  with  marked  and  handsome  features.     Its  ex- 
pression seemed  at  first  a  little  severe,  but  soon,  to  read- 
ing eyes,   disclosed  patience  and  tenderness.     At  the 
same  time  there  was  in  it  a  something  indescribably  un- 
like the  other  faces  present  —  and  indeed  his  w^hole  per- 
son and  carriage  were  similarly  peculiar.     Had  Mercy, 
however,  spent  on  him  a  little  more  attention,  the  pe- 
culiarity would  have  explained  it.     She  would  have  seen 
that,  although  everybody  spoke  to  him,  he  never  spoke 
in  reply  —  only  made  signs,  sometimes  with  his  lips, 
oftener  with  hand  or  head  :  the  man  was  deaf  and  dumb. 
But  such  was  the  keenness  of  his  observation  that  he 
understood  everything  said  to  him  by  one  he  knew,  and 
much  from  the  lips  of  a  stranger. 

His  companion  was  a  youth  whose  age  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  guess.  He  looked  a  lad,  and  was  not 
far  from  thirty.  His  clothing  was  much  like  his  father's 

—  poor  enough,  yet  with  the  air  of  being  a  better  suit 
than  that  worn  every  day.     He  was  very  pale  a? id  curi- 
ously freckled,  with  great  gray  eyes  like  his  father's, 


194  WHAT'S  MICE'S  MIXE. 

$ 

which  had  however  an  altogether  different  expression. 
They  looked  dreamy,  and  seemed  almost  carelsss  of 
what  passed  before  them,  though  now  and  then  a 
quick  sharp  turn  of  the  head  showed  him  not  devoid  of 
certain  attention. 

The  relation  between  the  two  was  strangely  interest- 
ing. Day  and  night  they  were  inseparable.  Because 
the  father  was  deaf,  the  son  gave  all  his  attention  to  the 
sounds  of  the  world  ;  his  soul  sat  in  his  ears,  ever  awake, 
ever  listening ;  while  such  was  his  confidence  in  his 
father's  sight,  that  he  scarcely  troubled  himself  to  look 
where  he  set  his  feet.  His  expression  also  was  peculiar, 
partly  from  this  cause,  mainly  from  a  deeper.  It  was  a 
far-away  look,  which  a  common  glance  would  have 
taken  to  indicate  that  he  was  "not  all  there."  In  a  low- 
land parish  he  would^ave  been  regarded  as  little  better 
than  a  gifted  idiot ;  in  the  mountains  he  was  looked 
upon  as  a  seer,  one  in  communion  with  higher  powers. 
Whether  his  people  were  of  this  opinion  from  being  all 
fools  together,  and  therefore  unable  to  know  a  fool,  or 
the  lowland  authorities  would  have  been  ri^ht  in  taking 

O  CT> 

charge  of  him,  let  him  who  pleases  judge  or  misjudge 
for  himself.  What  his  own  thought  of  him  came  out  in 
the  name  they  gave  him  :  "  Rob  of  the  Angels,"  they 
called  him.  He  was  nearly  a  foot  shorter  than  his 
father,  and  very  thin.  Some  said  he  looked  always 
cold  ;  but  I  think  that  came  of  the  wonderful  peace  on 
his  face,  like  the  quiet  of  a  lake  over  which  lies  a  thin 
mist.  Never  was  stronger  or  fuller  d  evotion  manifested 
by  son  to  father  than  by  Rob  of  the  Angels  to  Hec- 
tor of  the  Stags.  His  filial  love  and  faith  were  perfect. 
While  they  were  together,  he  was  in  his  own  calm 
elysium  ;  when  they  were  apart,  which  was  seldom  for 
more  than  a  few  minutes,  his  spirit  seemed  always  wait- 


KOB    OP    THE    ANGELS.  195 

ing.  I  believe  his  notions  of  God  his  father,  and  Hec- 
tor his  father,  were  strangely  mingled  —  the  more  per- 
haps that  the  two  fathers  were  equally  silent.  It  would 
have  been  a  valuable  revelation  to  some  theologians  to 
see  in  those  two  what  love  might  mean. 

So  gentle  was  Rob  of  the  Angels,  that  all  the  women, 
down  to  the  youngest  maid-child,  gave  him  a  compas- 
sionate, mother-like  love.  He  had  lost  his  mother  when 
he  was  an  infant  ;  the  father  had  brought  him  up  with 
his  own  hand,  and  from  the  moment  of  his  mother's  de- 
parture had  scarce  let  him  out  of  his  sight ;  but  the 
whole  woman-remnant  of  the  clan  was  as  a  mother  to 
the  boy.  And  from  the  first  they  had  so  talked  to  him 
of  his  mother,  greatly  no  doubt  through  the  feeling  that 
from  his  father  he  could  learn  nothing  of  her,  that  now 
his  mother  seemed  to  him  everywhere  :  he  could  not 
see  God ;  why  should  not  his  mother  be  there  though  he 
could  not  see  her !  No  wonder  the  man  was  peaceful. 

Many  would  be  inclined  to  call  the  two  but  poachers 
and  vagabonds  —  vagabonds  because  they  lived  in 
houses  not  quite  made  with  hands,  for  they  had  several 
dwellings  that  were  mostly  caves  —  which  yet  they  con- 
trived to  make  warm  and  comfortable ;  and  poachers 
because  they  lived  by  the  creatures  which  God  scatters 
on  his  hills  for  his  humans.  Let  those  who  inherit  or 
purchase,  avenge  the  breach  of  law  ;  but  let  them  not 
wonder  when  those  who  are  disinherited  and  sold,  cry 
out  against  the  breach  of  higher  law ! 

The  land  here  had  never,  partly  from  the  troubles 
besetting  its  owners,  but  more  from  their  regard  for  the 
poor  of  the  clan,  been  with  any  care  preserved  ;  little 
notice  was  ever  taken  of  what  game  was  killed,  or  who 
killed  it.  At  the  same  time  any  wish  of  the  chief  with 
regard  to  the  deer,  of  which  Rob's  father  for  one  knew 


196  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

every  an  tiered  head,  was  rigidly  respected.  As  to  the 
parts  which  became  the  property  of  others  —  the 
boundaries  between  were  not  very  definite,  and  sale 
could  ill  change  habits,  especially  where  owners  were 
but  beginning  to  bestir  themselves  about  the  deer,  or 
any  of  the  wild  animals  called  game.  Hector  and  Rob 
led  their  life  with  untroubled  conscience  and  easy 
mind. 

In  a  world  of  the  devil,  where  the  justification  of  ex- 
istence lies  in  money  on  the  one  side,  and  work  for 
money  on  the  other,  there  could  be  no  justification  of 
the  existence  of  these  men  ;  but  this  world  does  not  be- 
long to  the  devil,  though  it  may  often  seem  as  if  it  did, 
and  father  and  son  lived  and  enjoyed  life,  as  in  a  man- 
ner so  to  a  degree  unintelligible  to  him  who,  without 
his  money  and  its  consolations,  would  know  himself  in 
the  hell  he  has  not  yet  recognized.  Neither  of  them 
could  read  or  write ;  neither  of  them  had  a  penny  laid 
by  for  wet  weather ;  neither  of  them  would  leave  any 
memory  beyond  their  generation  ;  the  will  of  neither 
would  be  laid  up  in  Doctors'  Commons ;  neither  of  the 
two  would  leave  on  record  a  single  fact  concerning  one 
of  the  animals  whose  ways  and  habits  they  knew  better 
than  any  other  man  in  the  highlands ;  that  they  were 
nothing,  and  worth  nothing  to  anybody  —  even  to  them- 
selves, would  have  been  the  judgment  of  most  strang- 
ers concerning  them ;  but  God  knew  what  a  life  of  un- 
speakable pleasures  it  was  that  he  had  given  them  — 
a  life  the  change  from  which  to  the  life  beyond,  would 
scarce  be  distracting  :  neither  would  find  himself  much 
out  of  doors  when  he  died.  To  Rob  of  the  Angels  how 
could  Abraham's  bosom  feel  strange,  accustomed  to  lie 
night  after  night,  star-melted  and  soft-breathing,  or 
snow-ghastly  and  howling,  with  his  head  on  the  bosom 


ROB    OF    THE    ANGELS.  197 

of  Hector  of  the  Stags  —  an  Abraham  who  could  as  ill 
do  without  his  Isaac,  as  his  Isaac  without  him  ! 

The  father  trusted  his  son's  hearing  as  implicitly  as 
his  own  sight.  When  he  saw  a  certain  look  come  on 

o 

his  face  he  would  drop  on  the  instant,  and  crouch  as 
still  as  if  he  had  ears  and  knew  what  noise  was,  watch- 
ing Rob's  face  for  news  of  some  sound  wandering 
through  the  vast  of  the  night. 

o  o 

It  seemed  at  times,  however,  as  if  either  he  was  not 
quite  deaf,  or  he  had  some  gift  that  went  towards  com- 
pensation. To  all  motion  about  him  he  was  sensitive  as 
no  other  man.  I  am  afraid  to  say  from  how  far  off  the 
solid  earth  would  convey  to  him  the  vibration  of  a 
stag's  footstep.  Rob  sometimes  thought  his  cheek 
must  feel  the  wind  of  a  sound  to  which  his  ear  was  ir- 
responsive. Beyond  a  doubt  he  was  occasionally  aware 
of  the  proximity  of  an  animal,  and  knew  what  animal  it 
was,  of  which  Rob  had  no  intimation.  His  being,  cor- 
poreal and  spiritual,  seemed  to  the  ceaseless  vibrations  of 
the  great  globe,  a  very  seismograph.  Often  would  he 
make  his  sign  to  Rob  to  lay  his  ear  on  the  ground  and 
listen,  when  no  indication  had  reached  the  latter.  I 
suspect  the  exceptional  development  in  him  of  some 
sense  rudimentary  in  us  all. 

He  had  the  keenest  eyes  in  Glenruadh,  and  was  a 
dead  shot.  Even  the  chief  was  not  his  equal.  Yet  he 
never  stalked  a  deer,  never  killed  anything  for  mere 
sport.  I  am  not  certain  he  never  had,  but  for  Rob  of 
the  Angels,  he  had  the  deep-rooted  feeling  of  his  chief 
in  regard  to  the  animals.  What  they  wanted  for  food, 
they  would  kill ;  but  it  was  not  much  they  needed,  for 
seldom  can  two  men  have  lived  on  less,  and  they  had 
positively  not  a  greed  of  any  kind  between  them.  If 
their  necessity  was  meal  or  potatoes,  would  carry 


198  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

grouse  or  hares  down  the  glen,  or  arrange  with  some 
farmer's  wife,  perhaps  Mrs.  Macruadh  herself,  for  the 
haunches  of  a  doe ;  but  they  never  killed  from  pleasure 
in  killing.  Of  creatures  destructive  to  game,  they  killed 
enough  to  do  far  more  than  make  up  for  all  the  game 
they  took ;  and  for  the  skins  of  ermine  and  -stoat  and 
fox  and  otter  they  could  always  get  money's  worth ; 
money  itself  they  never  sought  or  had.  If  the  little 
birds  be  regarded  as  earning  the  fruit  and  seed  they  de- 
vour by  the  grubs  and  slugs  they  destroy,  then  Hector 
of  the  Stags  and  Rob  of  the  Angels  also  thoroughly 
earned  their  food. 

When  a  trustworthy  messenger  was  wanted,  and  Rob 
was  within  reach,  he  was  sure  to  be  employed.  But  not 
even  then  were  his  father  and  he  quite  parted.  Hector 
would  shoulder  his  gun,  and  follow  in  the  track  of  his 
fleet-footed  son  till  he  met  him  returning. 

For  what  was  life  to  Hector  but  to  be  with  Rob ! 
Was  his  Mary's  son  to  go  about  the  world  unattended  ! 
He  had  a  yet  stronger  feeling  than  any  of  the  clan  that 
his  son  was  not  of  the  common  race  of  mortals.  To 
Hector  also,  after  their  own  fashion,  would  Rob  of  the 
Angels  tell  the  tales  that  gave  rise  to  the  name  his 
clanspeople  gave  him  —  wonderful  tales  of  the  high 
mountain-nights,  the  actors  in  them  for  the  most  part 
angels.  Whether  Rob  believed  he  had  intercourse  with 
such  beings,  heard  them  speak,  and  saw  them  do  the 
things  he  reported,  I  cannot  tell ;  it  may  be  that,  like 
any  other  poet  of  good  things,  he  but  saw  and  believed 
the  things  his  tales  meant,  the  things  with  which  he 
represented  the  angels  as  dealing,  and  concerning 
which  he  told  their  sayings.  To  the  eyes  of  those  who 
knew  him,  Rob  seemed  just  the  sort  of  person  with 
whom  the  angels  might  be  well  pleased  to  hold  con- 


ROB    OF    THE    ANGELS.  199 

verse :  was  he  not  simplicity  itself,  truth,  generosity, 
helpfulness  ?  Did  he  not  when  a  child,  all  but  lose  his 
life  in  the  rescue  of  an  idiot  from  the  swollen  burn? 
Did  he  not,  when  a  boy,  fight  a  great  golden  eagle  on 
its  nest,  thinking  to  deliver  the  lamb  it  had  carried 
away  ?  Knowing  his  father  in  want  of  a  new  bonnet, 
did  not  Rob  with  his  bare  hands  seize  an  otter  at  the 
mouth  of  its  hole,  and  carry  it  home,  laughing  merrily 
over  the  wounds  it  had  given  him  ? 

His  voice  had  in  it  a  strangely  peculiar  tone,  making 
it  seem  not  of  this  world.  Especially  after  he  had  been 
talking  for  some  time,  it  would  appear  to  come  from  far 
away,  not  from  the  lips  of  the  man  looking  you  in  the 
face. 

It  was  wonderful  with  what  solemnity  of  speech,  and 
purity  of  form  he  would  tell  his  tales.  So  much  in 
solitude  with  his  dumb  father,  his  speech  might  well  be 
unlike  the  speech  of  other  men ;  but  whence  the  impres- 
sion of  cultivation  it  produced  ? 

When  the  Christmas  party  broke  up,  most  of  the 
guests  took  the  road  towards  the  village,  the  chief  and 
his  brother  accompanying  them  part  of  the  way.  Of 
these  were  Rob  and  his  father,  walking  hand  in  hand, 
Hector  looking  straight  before  him,  Rob  gazing  up  into 
the  heavens,  as  if  hiding  counsel  with  the  stars. 

"  Are  you  seeing  any  angels,  Rob  ?  "  asked  a  gentle 
girl  of  about  ten. 

"Well,  and  I'm  not  sure,"  answered  Rob  of  the 
Angels. 

"  Sure  you  can  tell  whether  you  see  anything  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see  !  but  it  is  not  easy  to  tell  what  will  be 
an  angel  and  what  will  not.  There's  so  much  all  blue 
up  there,  it  might  be  full  of  angels  and  none  of  us  see 
one  of  them  !  " 


200  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Do  tell  us  what  you  see,  Rob,  dear  Rob,"  said  the 
girl. 

"  Well,  and  I  will  tell  you.  I  think  I  see  many  heads 
close  together,  talking." 

"  And  can  you  hear  what  they  will  be  saying  ?  " 

"  Some  of  it." 

"  Tell  me,  do  tell  me  —  some  —  just  a  little." 

"  Well,  then,  they  are  saying,  one  to  the  other  —  not 
very  plain,  but  I  can  hear  —  they  are  saying,  '  I  won- 
der when  people  will  be  good  !  It  would  be  so  easy,  if 
only  tliey  would  mean  it,  and  begin  when  they  are  lit- 
tle ! '  That's  what  they  are  saying  as  they  look  down  on 
us  walking  along." 

o  o 

"  That  will  be  good  advice,  Rob  !  "  said  one  of  the 
women. 

Rob  turned  to  her. 

"  And,"  he  resumed,  "  they  are  saying  now  —  at  least 
that  is  what  it  sounds  to  me  —  '  I  wish  women  were  as 
good  as  they  were  when  they  were  little  girls  ! ' ' 

"  Now  I  know  they  are  not  saying  that !  "  remarked 
the  woman.  "  How  should  the  angels  trouble  them- 
selves about  us  !  Rob,  dear,  confess  you  are  making  it 
up,  because  the  child  would  be  asking  you." 

Rob  made  no  answer,  but  some  saw  him  smile  a  curi- 
ous smile.  Rob  would  never  defend  anything  he  had 
said,  or  dispute  anything  another  said.  After  a  mo- 
ment or  two,  he  spoke  again. 

"  Shall  I  be  telling  you  what  I  heard  them  saying  to 
each  other  this  last  night  of  all  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  do,  do  !  " 

"  It  was  upon  Dorrachbeg ;  and  there  were  two  of 
them.  They  were  sitting  together  in  the  moon  —  in 
the  correi  over  the  village.  I  was  lying  in  a  bush  near 
them,  for  I  could  not  sleep,  and  came  out,  and  the 


ROB    OF    THE    AXGELS.  201 

night  was  not  cold.  Now  I  would  never  be  so  bad- 
mannered  as  to  listen  where  persons  did  not  want  me  to 
hear." 

"  What  were  they  like,  Rob,  dear  ?  "  interrupted  the 
girl. 

"  That  does  not  matter  much,"  answered  Rob  ;  "  but 
they  were  white,  and  their  eyes  not  so  white,  but 
brighter ;  for  so  many  sad  things  go  in  at  their  eyes 
when  they  come  down  to  the  earth,  that  it  makes  them 
dark." 

"  How  could  they  be  brighter  and  darker  both  rat 
once  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  very  pertinently. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  answered  Rob.  "  The  dark  things 
that  go  in  at  their  eyes,  they  have  to  burn  them  in  the 
fire  of  faith  ;  and  it  is  the  fire  of  that  burning  that 
makes  their  eyes  bright ;  it  is  the  fire  of  their  faith 
burning  up  the  sad  things  they  see." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  understand  now  !  "  said  the  girl.  "  And 
what  were  their  clothes  like,  Rob  ?  " 

"  When  you  see  the  angels,  you  don't  think  much 
about  their  clothes." 

"  And  what  were  they  saying  ?  " 

"  I  spoke  first  —  the  moment  I  saw  them,  for  I  was 
not  sure  they  knew  that  I  was  there.  I  said, '  I  am  here, 
gentlemen.'  c  Yes,  we  know  that,'  they  answered. 
*  Are  .you  far  from  home,  gentlemen  ? '  I  asked.  '  It  is 
all  one  for  that ! '  they  answered.  '  Well,'  said  I,  '  it 
is  true,  gentlemen,  for  you  seem  as  much  at  home  here 
on  the  side  of  Dorrachbeg,  as  if  it  was  a  hill  in  para- 
dise ! '  c  And  how  do  you  know  it  is  not  ?  '  said  they. 
'  Because  I  see  people  do  upon  it  as  they  would  not  in 
paradise,'  I  answered.  '  Ah  !  '  said  one  of  them,  '  the 
hill  may  be  in  paradise,  and  the  people  not !  But  you 
cannot  understand  these  things ! '  c  I  think  I  do,'  I 


202 


said  ;  '  but  surely,  if  you  did  let  them  know  they  were 
on  a  hill  in  paradise,  they  would  not  do  as  they  do!' 
c  It  would  be  no  use  telling  them,'  said  he, c but,  oh,  how 
they  spoil  the  house ! '  '  Are  the  red  deer,  and  the 
hares,  and  the  birds  in  paradise  ? '  I  asked.  '  Certain 
sure ! '  he  answered.  '  Do  they  know  it ! '  said  I. 
'  No,  it  is  not  necessary  for  them  ;  but  they  will  know 
it  one  day.'  '  You  do  not  mind  your  little  brother 
asking  you  questions  ? '  I  said.  '  Ask  a  hundred,  if 
you  will,  little  brother,'  he  replied.  'Then  tell  me 
why  you  are  down  here  to-night  ? '  '  My  friend  and 
I  came  out  for  a  walk,  and  we  thought  we  would  look 
to  see  when  the  village  down  there  will  have  to  be 
reaped.'  'What  do  you  mean?'  I  said.  <  You  cannot 
see  what  we  see,'  they  answered ;  '  but  a  human  place  is 
like  a  flower,  or  a  field  of  corn,  and  grows  ripe,  or 
won't  grow  ripe,  and  then  some  of  us  up  there  have  to 
sharpen  our  sickles.'  '  What ! '  said  I,  for  a  great  fear 
came  upon  me,  'they  are  not  wicked  people  down  there  ! ' 
'  No,  not  very  wicked,  but  slow  and  dull.'  Then  I  could 
say  nothing  more  for  a  while,  and  they  did  not  speak 
either,  but  sat  looking  before  them.  '  Can  you  go  and 
come  as  you  please  ? '  I  asked  at  length.  c  Yes,  just  as 
we  are  sent,'  they  answered.  '  Would  you  not  like 
better  to  go  and  come  of  yourselves,  as  my  father  and  I 
do  ? '  I  said.  '  No,  answered  both  of  them,  and  something 
in  their  one  voice  almost  frightened  me ;  cit  is  better 
than  everything  to  go  where  we  are  sent.  If  we  had  to 
go  and  come  at  our  own  will,  we  should  be  miserable,  for 
we  do  not  love  our  own  will ! '  '  Not  love  your  own 
will  ? '  '  No,  not  at  all ! '  c  Why  ? '  « Because  there  is  one 
—  oh,  ever  so  much  better !  When  you  and  your 
father  are  quite  good,  you  will  not  be  left  to  go  and 
come  at  your  own  will  any  more  than  we  are.'  And  I 


EOB    OF    THE    ANGELS.  203 

cried  out,  and  said,  '  Oh,  dear  angel !  you  frighten  me ! ' 
And  he  said,  c  That  is  because  you  are  only  a  man,  and 

not  a '  Now  I  am  not  sure  of  the  word  he  said 

next ;  but  I  think  it  was  Christian  ;  and  I  do  not  quite 
know  what  the  word  meant." 

"  Oh,  Rob,  dear !  everybody  knows  that  I  "  exclaimed 
the  girl. 

But  Rob  said  no  more. 

While  he  was  talking,  Alister  had  come  up  behind 
him,  with  Annie  of  the  shop,  and  he  said  — 

"  Rob,  my  friend,  I  know  what  you  mean,  and  I 
want  to  hear  the  rest  of  it :  what  did  the  angels  say 
next  ?  " 

"  They  said,"  answered  Rob,  "  '  Was  it  your  will  set 
you  on  this  beautiful  hill,  with  all  these  things  to  love, 
with  such  air  to  breathe,  such  a  father  as  you've  got,  and 
such  grand  deer  about  you  ? '  '  No,'  I  answered.  '  Then,' 
said  the  angel,  '  there  must  be  a  better  will  than  yours, 
for  you  would  never  have  even  thought  of  such  things ! ' 
*  How  could  I,  when  I  wasn't  made  ?  '  said  I.  c  There  it 
is  ! '  he  returned,  and  said  no  more.  I  looked  up,  and 
the  moon  was  shining,  and  there  were  no  angels  on  the 
stone.  But  a  little  way  off  was  my  father,  come  out  to 
see  what  had  become  of  me." 

"  Now,  did  you  really  see  and  hear  all  that,  Rob  ?  " 
said  Alister. 

Rob  smiled  a  beautiful  smile  —  with  something  in  it 
common  people  would  call  idiotic  —  stopped  and  turned, 
took  the  chiefs  hand,  and  carried  it  to  his  lips  ;  but  not 
a  word  more  would  he  speak,  and  soon  they  came 
where  the  path  of  the  two  turned  away  over  the  hill. 

"  Will  you  not  come  and  sleep  at  our  house  ?  "  said 
one  of  the  company. 

But  they  two  made  kindly  excuse. 


204  WHAT'S  MICE'S  MINE. 

"  The  hill-side  would  miss  us ;  we  are  expected  home  !  " 
said  Rob  —  and  away  they  climbed  to  their  hut,  a  hol- 
low in  a  limestone  rock,  with  a  front  wall  of  turf,  there 
to  sleep  side  by  side  till  the  morning  came,  or,  as  Rob 
would  have  said,  "  till  the  wind  of  the  sun  woke  them." 

Rob  of  •  the  Angels  made  songs,  and  would  sing  one 
sometimes;  but  they  were  in  Gaelic,  and  the  more 
poetic  a  thing,  the  more  inadequate  at  least,  if  not 
stupid,  is  its  translation. 

He  had  all  the  old  legends  of  the  country  in  his  head, 
and  many  stories  of  ghosts  and  of  the  second  sight. 
These  stories  he  would  tell  exactly  as  he  had  heard 
them,  showing  he  believed  every  word  of  them ;  but 
with  such  of  the  legends  as  were  plainly  no  other  than 
poetic  inventions,  he  would  take  what  liberties  he 
pleased  —  and  they  lost  nothing  by  it ;  for  he  not  only 
gave  them  touches  of  fresh  interest,  but  sent  glimmer- 
ing through  them  hints  of  something  higher,  of  which 
ordinary  natures  perceived  nothing,  while  others  were 
dimly  aware  of  a  loftier  intent :  according  to  his  listen- 
ers was  their  hearing.  In  Rob's  stories,  as  in  all  the 
finer  work  of  genius,  a  man  would  find  as  much  as,  and 
and  no  more  than,  he  was  capable  of.  "  lan's  opinion  of 
Rob  was  even  higher  than  Alister's. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Ian,  of  the  stories  Rob  of  the 
Angels  tells  ?  "  asked  Alister,  as  they  walked  home. 

"  That  the  Lord  has  chosen  the  weak  things  of  the 
world  to  confound  the  mighty,"  answered  Ian. 

"Tut!     Rob  confounds  nobody." 

"  He  confounds  me,"  returned  Ian. 

"  Does  he  believe  what  he  tells  ?  " 

"  He  believes  all  of  it  that  is  to  be  believed." 

"  You  are  as  bad  as  he  !  "  rejoined  Alister.  "  There 
is  no  telling,  sometimes,  what  you  mean !  " 


ROB    OF    THE    AXGELS.  205 

"  Tell  me  this,  Alister  :  can  a  thing  be  believed  that 
is  not  true?" 

"  Yes,  certainly  !  " 

"  I  say,  no.     Can  you  eat  that  which  is  not  bread  ?  " 

"I  have  seen  a  poor  fellow  gnawing  a  stick  for 
hunger ! "  answered  Alister. 

"  Yes,  gnawing  !  but  gnawing  is  not  eating.  Did 
the  poor  fellow  eat  the  stick  ?  That  is  just  it !  Many 
a  man  will  gnaw  at  a  lie  all  his  life,  and  perish  of  want. 
I  mean  by  lie,  of  course,  the  real  lie  —  a  thing  which  is 
in  its  nature  false.  He  may  gnaw  at  it,  he  may  even 
swallow  it,  but  I  deny  that  he  can  believe  it.  There  is 
not  that  in  it  which  can  be  believed  ;  at  most  it  can 
but  be  supposed  to  be  true.  Belief  is  another  thing. 
Truth  is  alone  the  correlate  of  belief,  just  as  air  is  for 
the  lungs,  just  as  color  is  for  the  sight.  A  lie  can  no 
more  be  believed  than  carbonic  acid  can  be  breathed. 
It  goes  into  the  lungs,  true,  and  a  lie  goes  into  the  mind, 
but  both  kill ;  the  one  is  not  breathed,  the  other  is  not 
believed.  The  thing  that  is  not  true,  cannot  find  its  way 
to  the  home  of  faith  ;  if  it  could,  it  would  be  at  once 
rejected  with  a  loathing  beyond  utterance ;  to  a  pure 
soul,  which  alone  can  believe,  nothing  is  so  loathsome 
as  a  pretence  of  truth.  A  lie  is  a  pretended  truth.  If 
there  were  no  truth  there  could  be  no  lies.  As  the 
devil  upon  God,  the  very  being  of  a  lie  depends  on  that 
whose  opposite  and  enemy  it  is.  But  tell  me,  Alister, 
do  you  believe  the  parables  of  our  Lord  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

"  Was  there  any  real  person  in  our  Lord's  mind  when 
he  told  that  one  about  the  unjust  judge  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  not ;  but  there  were  doubtless  many  such." 

"  Many  who  would  listen  to  a  poor  woman  because 
she  plagued  them  ?  " 


206 


"  Well,  it  does  not  matter ;  what  the  story  teaches  is 
true,  and  that  was  what  he  wanted  believed." 

"  Just  so.  The  truth  in  the  parables  is  what  they 
mean,  not  what  they  say ;  and  so  it  is,  I  think,  with 
Rob  of  the  Angels'  stories.  He  believes  all  that  can  be 
believed  of  them.  At  the  same  time,  to  a  mind  so  sim- 
ple, the  spirit  of  God  must  have  freer  entrance  than  to 
ours  —  perhaps  even  teaches  the  man  by  w^hat  we  call 
the  man's  own  words.  His  words  may  go  before  his 
ideas  —  his  higher  ideas  at  least  —  his  ideas  follow 
after  his  words.  As  the  half-thoughts  pass  through  his 
mind  —  who  can  say  how  much  generated  by  himself, 
how  much  directly  suggested  by  the  eternal  thought  in 
which  his  spirit  lives  and  breathes  !  —  he  drinks  and  is 
refreshed.  I  am  convinced  that  nowhere  so  much  as  in 
the  highest  knowledge  of  all  —  what  the  people  above 
count  knowledge  —  will  the  fulfilment  of  the  saying  of 
our  Lord,  "  Many  first  shall  be  last,  and  the  last  first," 
cause  astonishment ;  that  a  man  who  has  been  leader  of 
the  age's  opinion,  may  be  immeasurably  behind  another 
whom  he  would  have  shut  up  in  a  madhouse.  Depend 
upon  it,  things  go  on  in  the  soul  of  that  Rob  of  the 
Angels  which  the  angels  whether  they  come  to  talk 
with  him  or  not,  would  gladly  look  into.  Of  such  as  he 
the  angels  may  one  day  be  the  pupils. 

A  silence  followed. 

"  Do  you  think  the  young  ladies  of  the  New  House 
could  understand  Rob  of  the  Angels,  Ian  ?  "  at  length 
asked  Alister. 

"Not  a  bit.  I  tried  the  younger,  and  she  is  the  best. 
— They  could  if  they  would  wake  up." 

"  You  might  say  that  of  anybody  ! " 

"  Yes  ;  but  there  is  this  among  other  differences  — 
that  some  people  do  not  wake  up,  because  they  want  a 


EOB   OF    THE    ANGELS.  207 

new  brain  first,  such  as  they  will  get  when  they  die, 
perhaps  ;  while  others  do  not  wake  up,  because  their 
whole  education  has  been  a  rocking  of  them  to  sleep. 
And  there  is  this  difference  between  the  girls,  that  the 
one  is  full  of  herself,  and  the  other  is  not.  The  one  has 
a  close,  the  other  an  open  mind." 

"And  yet,"  said  Alister,  "  if  they  heard  you  say  so, 
the  open  mind  would  imagine  itself  the  close,  and  the 
close  never  doubt  it  was  the  open  !  " 


CHAPTER  XX. 

AT    THE    NEW    HOUSE. 

THE  ladies  of  the  New  House  were  not  a  little  sur- 
prised, the  next  day,  when,  as  they  sat  waiting 
their  guests,  the  door  of  the  drawing-room  opened,  and 
they  saw  the  young  highlanders  enter  in  ordinary  even- 
ing dress.  The  plough-driving  laird  himself  looked  to 
Christina  very  much  like  her  patterns  of  Grosvenor- 
square.  It  was  long  since  he  had  worn  his  dress-coat, 
and  it  was  certainly  a  little  small  for  his  more  fully  de- 
veloped frame,  but  he  carried  himself  as  straight  as  a 
rush,  and  was  nowise  embarrassed  with  hands  or  feet. 
His  hands  were  brown  and  large,  but  they  were  well 
shaped,  and  not  ashamed  of  themselves,  being  as  clean 
as  his  heart.  Out  of  his  hazel  eyes,  looking  in  the 
candle-light,  nearly  as  dark  as  Mercy's,  went  an  occa- 
sional glance  which  an  emergency  might  at  once  develop 
into  a  look  of  command. 

For  Ian,  he  would  have  attracted  attention  any- 
where, if  only  from  his  look  of  quiet  unselfness,  and  the 
invariable  grace  of  the  movement  that  broke  his 
marked  repose  ;  but  his  entertainers  would  doubtless 
have  honored  him  more  had  they  understood  that  his 
manner  was  just  the  same  and  himself  as  much  at  home 
in  the  grandest  court  of  Europe. 

The  elder  ladies  got  on  together  pretty  well.  The 
widow  of  the  chief  tried  to  explain  to  her  hostess  the 
condition  of  the  country  and  its  people ;  the  latter, 


AT    THE    NEW    HOUSE.  209 

though  knowing  little  and  caring  less  about  relations 
••beyond  those  of  the  family  and  social  circle,  nor  feeling 
any  purely  human  responsibility,  was  yet  interested 
enough  to  be  able  to  seem  more  interested  than  she 
was ;  while  her  sweet  smile  and  sweet  manners  were 
very  pleasing  to  one  who  seldom  now  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  meeting  a  woman  so  much  on  her  own  level. 

The  gentlemen,  too,  were  tolerably  comfortable  to- 
gether. Both  Alister  and  Ian  had  plenty  of  talk  and 
anecdote.  The  latter  pleased  the  ladies  with  descrip- 
tions of  northern  ways  and  dresses  and  manners  —  per- 
haps yet  more  with  what  pleased  the  men  also,  tales  of 
wolf  and  bear-shooting.  But  it  seemed  odd  that,  when 
the  talk  turned  upon  the  home-shooting  called  sport, 
both  Alister  and  Ian  should  sit  in  unsmiling  silence. 

There  was  in  Ian  a  certain  playfulness,  a  restrained 
merriment,  which  made  Mercy  doubt  her  ears  after  his 
seriousness  of  the  night  before.  Life  seemed  to  flash 
from  him  on  all  sides,  occasionally  in  a  keen  stroke  of 
wit,  oftener  in  a  humorous  presentation  of  things. 
His  brother  alone  could  see  how  he  would  check  the 
witticism  on  his  very  lips  lest  it  should  hurt.  It  was  in 
virtue  of  his  tenderness  towards  everything  that  had 
life  that  he  was  able  to  give  such  narratives  of  what  he 
had  seen,  such  descriptions  of  persons  he  had  met. 
When  he  told  a  story,  it  was  with  such  quiet  participa- 
tion, manifest  in  the  gleam  of  his  gray  eyes,  in  the 
smile  that  hovered  like  the  very  soul  of  Psyche  about 
his  lips,  that  his  hearers  enjoyed  the  telling  more  than 
the  tale.  Even  the  chief  listened  with  eagerness  to 
every  word  that  fell  from  his  brother. 

The  ladies  took  note  that,  while  the  manners  of  the 
laird  and  his  mother  were  in  a  measure  old-fashioned, 
those  of  Ian  were  of  the  latest :  with  social  custom,  in 


210  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

its  flow  of  change,  he  seemed  at  home.  But  his  ease 
never  for  a  moment  degenerated  into  the  free-and-easy, 
the  dry  rot  of  manners ;  there  was  a  stateliness  in  him 
that  dominated  the  ease,  and  a  courtesy  that  would  not 
permit  friendliness  to  fall  into  premature  familiarity. 
He  was  at  ease  with  his  fellows  because  he  respected 
them,  and  courteous  because  he  loved  them. 

The  ladies  withdrew,  and  with  their  departure  came 
the  time  that  tests  the  man  whether  he  be  in  truth  a 
gentleman.  In  the  presence  of  women  the  polish  that 
is  not  revelation  but  concealment  preserves  itself  only 
to  vanish  with  them.  How  would  not  some  women 
stand  aghast  to  hear  but  a  specimen  of  the  talk  of 
their  heroes  at  such  a  time  ! 

It  had  been  remarked  throughout  the  dinner  that  the 
highlanders  took  no  wine  ;  but  it  was  supposed  they 
were  reserving  their  powers.  When  they  now  passed 
decanter  and  bottle  and  jug  without  filling  their  glasses, 
it  gave  offence  to  the  very  soul  of  Mr.  Peregrine 
Palmer.  The  bettered  custom  of  the  present  day  had 
not  then  made  progress  enough  to  affect  his  table  ;  he 
was  not  only  fond  of  a  glass  of  good  wine,  but  had  the 
ambition  of  the  cellar  largely  developed  ;  he  would  fain 
be  held  a  connoisseur  in  wines,  and  kept  up  a  good 
stock  of  distinguished  vintages,  from  which  he  had 
brought  of  such  to  Glenruadh  as  would  best  bear  the 
carriage.  Having  no  aspiration,  there  was  room  in  him 
for  any  number  of  petty  ambitions  ;  and  it  vexed  him 
not  to  reap  the  harvest  of  recognition.  "  But  of  course," 
he  said  to  himself,  "no  highlander  understands  any- 
thing but  whisky !  " 

"  You  don't  mean  you're  a  teetotaler,  Macruadh  !  " 

"No,"  answered  the  chief;  "I  do  not  call  myself 
one  ;  but  I  never  drink  anything  strong." 


AT    THE    NEW    HOUSE.  211 

. * 

"  Not  on  Christmas-day  ?  Of  course  you  make  an  ex- 
ception at  times ;  and  if  at  anytime,  why  not  on  the 
merriest  day  of  the  year  ?  You  are  under  no  pledge  ! " 

"  If  that  were  a  reason,"  returned  Alister,  laughing, 
"  it  would  rather  be  one  for  becoming  pledged,  imme- 
diately." 

"  Well,  you  surprise  me  !  And  highlanders  too  !  I 
thought  better  of  all  highlanders  ;  they  have  the  repu- 
tation of  good  men  at  the  bottle  !  You  make  me  sorry 
to  have  brought  my  wine  where  it  meets  with  no  con- 
sideration.—  Mr.  Ian,  you  are  a  man  of  the  world :  you 
will  not  refuse  to  pledge  me  ?  " 

"  I  must,  Mr.  Palmer  !  The  fact  is,  my  brother  and 
I  have  seen  so  much  evil  arising  from  the  drinking 
habits  of  the  country,  which  always  gets  wrorse  in  a  time 
of  depression,  that  we  dare  not  give  in  to  them.  My 
father,  who  was  clergyman  of  the  parish  before  he  be- 
came head  of  the  clan,  was  of  the  same  mind  before  us, 
and  brought  us  up  not  to  drink.  Throughout  a  whole 
Siberian  winter  I  kept  the  rule." 

"  And  got  frost-bitten  for  your  pains  ?  " 

"  And  found  myself  nothing  the  worse." 

"It's  mighty  good  of  you,  no  doubt!  "  said  the  host, 
with  a  curl  of  his  shaven  lip. 

"You  can  hardly  call  that  good  which  does  not  in- 
volve any  self-denial,"  remarked  Alister. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer,  "what  is  the 
world  coming  to  ?  All  the  pith  is  leaking  out  of  our 
young  men.  In  another  generation  we  shall  have 
neither  soldiers,  nor  sailors  nor  statesmen !  " 

"  On  what  do  you  found  such  a  sad  conclusion  ?  "  in- 
quired Ian. 

"On  the  growth  of  asceticism  in  the  young  men. 
Believe  me,  it  is  necessary  to  manhood  that  men  when 


212  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

they  are  young  should  drink  a  little,  and  gamble  a  lit- 
tle, and  sow  a  few  wild  oats  —  as  necessary  as  that  a 
nation  should  found  itself  by  the  law  of  the  strongest. 
How  else  can  we  look  for  the  moderation  to  follow  with 
responsibilities  ?  The  vices  that  are  more  than  excusa- 
ble in  the  young,  are  very  properly  denied  to  ,the  mar- 
ried man ;  the  law  for  him  is  not  the  same  as  for  the 
young  man.  I  do  not  plead  for  license,  you  see  ;  but  it 
will  never  do  for  young  men  to  turn  ascetics !  Let  the 
clergy  do  as  they  please  ;  they  are  hardly  to  be  counted 
men,  at  least  their  calling  is  not  a  manly  one  !  Depend 
upon  it,  young  men  who  do  not  follow  the  dictates  of 
nature  —  while  they  are  young,  I  mean  —  will  never 
make  any  mark  in  the  world !  They  dry  up  like  a  nut, 
brain  and  all,  and  have  neither  spirit,  nor  wit,  nor  force 
of  any  kind.  Nature  knows  best !  When  I  was  a 
young  man, " 

"  Pray  spare  us  confession,  Mr.  Palmer,"  said  Ian. 
"  In  our  case  your  doctrine  does  not  enter  willing  ears, 
and  I  should  be  sorry  anything  we  might  feel  com- 
pelled to  say,  should  have  the  appearance  of  person- 
ality." 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  should  heed  anything  you  said  ?  " 
cried  the  host,  betraying  the  bad  blood  in  his  breeding. 
"  Is  it  manners  here  to  prevent  a  man  from  speaking  his 
mind  at  his  own  table  ?  I  say  a  saint  is  not  a  man  !  A 
fellow  that  will  neither  look  at  a  woman  nor  drink  his 
glass,  is  not  cut  out  for  man's  work  in  the  world !  " 

Like  a  sledge-hammer  came  the  list  of  the  laird  on 
the  table,  that  the  crystal  danced  and  rang. 

"  My  God ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  rose  in  hugest  in- 
dignation. 

Ian  laid  his  hand  on  his  arm,  and  he  sat  down  again. 

"  There  may  be  some  misunderstanding,  Alister," 


AT    THE    NEW    HOUSE.  213 

said  Ian,  "  between  us  and  our  host !  —  Pray,  Mr. 
Palmer,  let  us  understand  each  other :  do  you  believe 
God  made  woman  to  be  the  slave  of  man  ?  Can  you 
believe  he  ever  made  a  woman  that  she  might  be  dis- 
honored ?  —  that  a  man  might  caress  and  despise  her  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  God's  intentions ;  all  I  say 
is,  we  must  obey  the  laws  of  our  nature." . 

"  Is  conscience  then  not  a  law  of  pur  nature  ?  Is  it  not 
even  on  the  level  of  our  instincts  ?  Must  not  the  lower 
laws  be  subject  to  the  higher?  It  is  a  law  —  for  ever 
broken,  yet  eternal  —  that  a  man  is  his  brother's  keeper : 
still  more  must  he  be  his  sister's  keeper.  Therein  is 
involved  all  civilization,  all  national  as  well  as  individ- 
ual growth." 

Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  smiled  a  contemptuous  smile. 
The  other  young  men  exchanged  glances  that  seemed  to 
say,  "  The  governor  knows  what  is  what !  " 

"  Such  may  be  the  popular  feeling  in  this  out-of-the- 
way  spot,"  said  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer,  "  and  no  doubt  it 
is  very  praiseworthy,  but  the  world  is  not  of  your 
opinion,  gentlemen." 

"  The  world  has  got  to  come  to  our  opinion,"  said 
the  laird  —  at  which  the  young  men  of  the  house  broke 
into  a  laugh. 

"  May  we  join  the  ladies  ?  "  said  Ian,  rising. 

"  By  all  means,"  answered  the  host,  with  a  laugh 
meant  to  be  good-humored  ;  "  they  are  the  fittest  com- 
pany for  you." 

As  the  brothers  went  up  the  stair,  they  heard  their 
host  again  holding  forth  ;  but  they  would  not  have  been 
much  edified  by  the  slight  change  of  front  he  had  made, 
in  order  to  impress  on  the  young  men  the  necessity  of 
moderation  in  their  pleasures. 

There  are  two  opposite  classes  related  by  a  like  un- 


214  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

belief  —  those  who  will  not  believe  in  the  existence  of 
the  good  of  which  they  have  apprehended  no  approxi- 
mate instance,  and  those  who  will  not  believe  in  the  ex- 
istence of  similar  evil.  I  tell  the  one  class,  there  are 
men  who  would  cast  their  very  being  from  them  rather 
than  be  such  as  they;  and  the  other  that  because  they 
shut  their  eyes,  they  must  not  think  to  make  me  shut  my 
mouth.  There  are  multitudes  delicate  as  they,  who  are 
compelled  to  meet  evil  face  to  face,  and  fight  with  it  the 
sternest  of  battles :  on  their  side  may  I  be  found ! 
What  the  Lord  knew  and  recognized,  I  will  know  and 
recognize  too,  be  shocked  who  may.  I  spare  them,  how- 
ever, any  more  of  the  talk  at  that  dinner-table.  Only 
Jet  them  take  heed  lest  their  refinement  involve  a  very 
bad  selfishness.  Cursed  be  the  evil  thing,  not  ignored  ! 
Mrs.  Palmer,  sweet-smiled  and  clear-eyed,  never  showed 
the  least  indignation  at  her  husband's  doctrines.  I  fear 
she  was  devoid  of  indignation  on  behalf  of  others. 
Very  far  are  such  from  understanding  the  ways  of  the 
all-pardoning,  all-punishing  Father ! 

The  three  from  the  cottage  were  half-way  home  ere 
the  gentlemen  of  the  New  House  rose  from  their  wine. 
Then  first  the  mother  sought  an  explanation  of  the 
early  departure  they  had  suggested. 

"  Something  went  wrong,  sons  :  what  was  it  ?  "  she 
said. 

"I  don't  like  the  men,  mother;  nor  does  Ian,"  said 
Alister  gloomily. 

"  Take  care  you  are  not  unjust !  "  she  replied. 

"  You  would  not  have  liked  Mr.  Palmer's  doctrine 
any  better  than  we  did,  mother." 

"  What  was  it ! " 

"  We  would  rather  not  tell  you." 

"  It  was  not  fit  for  a  woman  to  hear." 


AT    THE    NEW    HOUSE.  215 

.  "Then  do  not  tell  me.  I  trust  you  to  defend 
women." 

"  In  God's  name  we  will !  "  said  Alister. 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  an  oath,  Alister !  "  said  his 
mother. 

"  Alister  meant  it  very  solemnly  !  "  said  Ian. 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  was  not  necessary  — •  least  of  all  to  me. 
The  name  of  our  Lord  God  should  lie  a  precious  jewel 
in  the  cabinet  of  our  hearts,  to  be  taken  out  only  at 
great  times,  and  with  loving  awe." 

"  I  shall  be  careful,  mother,"  answered  Alister ;  "  but 
when  things  make  me  sorry,  or  glad,  or  angry,  I  always 
think  of  God  first !  " 

"  I  understand  you ;  but  I  fear  taking  the  name  of 
God  in  vain." 

"  It  shall  not  be  in  vain,  mother !  "  said  the  laird. 

"  Must  it  be  a  breach  with  our  new  neighbors  ? " 
asked  the  mother. 

"  It  will  depend  on  them.  The  thing  began  because 
we  would  not  drink  wine." 

"  You  did  not  make  any  remark?  " 

"  Not  until  our  host's  remarks  called  for  our  reasons. 
By  the  way,  I  should  like  to  know  how  the  man  made 
his  money," 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE    BROTHERS. 

INVENTS,  then,  because  of  the  deeper  things  whence 
-L-^  they  came,  seemed  sorely  against  any  cordial 
approach  of  the  old  and  the  new  houses  of  Glenruadh. 
But  there  was  a  sacred  enemy  within  the  stronghold  of 
Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer,  and  that  enemy  forbade  him  to 
break  with  the  young  highlanders  notwithstanding  the 
downright  mode  in  which  they  had  expressed  their  dif- 
ference with  him  :  he  felt,  without  knowing  it,  ashamed 
of  the  things  he  had  uttered  :  they  were  not  such  as  he 
would  wish  proclaimed  from  the  house-tops  out  of  the 
midst  of  which  rose  heavenward  the  spire  of  the  church 
he  had  built :  neither  did  the  fact  that  he  would  have 
no  man  be  wicked  on  Sundays,  make  him  feel  quite 
right  in  urging  young  men  to  their  swing -on  other 
days. 

Christian  and  Sercombe  could  not  but  admire  the 
straightforwardness  of  the  brothers  ;  their  convention- 
ality could  not  prevent  them  from  feeling  the  dignity 
with  .  which  they  acted  on  their  convictions.  The 
quixotic  young  fellows  ought  not  to  be  cut  for  their 
behavior !  They  could  not  court  their  society,  but 
would  treat  them  with  consideration !  Things  could 
not  well  happen  to  bring  them  into  much  proximity ! 
r  "What  had  taken  place  could  not  definitely  influence 
the  ideas,  feelings,  or  opinions  of  the  young  ladies. 
Their  father  would  sooner  have  had  his  hand  cut  off 
216 


THE    BROTHERS.  217 


than  any  word  said  over  that  fuliginous  desert  reach 
the  ears  of  his  daughters.  Is  it  not  an  absolute  dam- 
nation of  certain  evil  principles  that  many  men  would 
be  flayed  alive  rather  than  let  those  they  love  know  that 
they  hold  them  ?  But  see  the  selfishness  of  the  same 
men!  They  look  with  scorn  on  the  women  they  have 
done  their  part  to  degrade,  but  not  an  impure  breath 
must  reach  the  ears  of  his  children !  Another  man's, 
especially  if  he  be  a  poor  man,  may  go  to  the  devil! 

Mr.  Palmer  did,  however,  communicate  something  of 
the  conversation  to  his  wife ;  and  although  she  had 
neither  the  spirit,  nor  the  insight,  nor  the  active  purity, 
to  tell  him  he  was  in  the  wrong,  she  did  not  like  the 
young  highlanders  the  worse.  She  even  thought  it  a 
pity  the  world  should  have  been  so  made  that  they 
could  not  be  in  the  right ! 

But  it  is  wonderful  how  a  bird  of  the  air  will  carry 
a  matter,  and  some  vaguest  impressions  of  what  had 
passed  did  reach  the  minds  of  the  older  girls  —  possibly 
from  hints,  supposed  unintelligible,  passing  between 
Mr.  Sercombe  and  Christian :  something  in  the  social 
opinions  of  the  two  highlanders  made  them  differ  much 
from  those  prevailing  in  their  section  of  society !  Now 
even  Mercy  had  not  escaped  some  notion  of  things  of 
which  the  air  about  her  was  full ;  and  she  felt  the  glow 
of  a  conscious  attraction  towards  men  —  somehow,  she 
did  not  know  how  — like  old-fashioned  knights  errant 
in  their  relations  to  women. 

There  were  not  many  grouse,  and  the  labor  in  shoot- 
ing them  was  hard.  Neither  had  the  young  men  suc- 
cess in  the  way  of  deer-stalking,  and  the  time  not 
unfrequently  lay  heavy  on  their  hands.  They  were  of 
those  who  are  most  aware  of  well-being  when  they  are 
killing  or  at  least  hurting  some  other  of  God's  creatures. 


218  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

Christian  was  of  the  sort  ready  to  talk  rubbish,  and 
even  rude  rubbish,  to  any  pretty  barmaid,  and  Sercombe 
was  at  his  ease  with  him.  The  latter  had  begun  again 
to  plague  Annie  of  the  shop  with  his  visits,  firmly  be- 
lieving that,  however  different  she  might  seem,  and 
however  ignorance  might  have  preserved  the  simplicity 
of  her  manners,  she  was,  as  he  put  it,  "  like  all  the  rest." 
Christian  went  with  him  occasionally,  and  Annie  was 
much  annoyed  by  their  appearing  when  they  wanted 
nothing,  and  talking  to  her  who  had  no  desire  to  talk 
to  them.  The  behavior  to  which  she  was  accustomed 
in  the  chief  and  Ian,  made  her  feel  strongly  the  differ- 
ence of  these  men,  but  she  did  not  see  how  of  herself  to 
get  rid  of  them.  She  would  oftener  have  called  her 
mother  but  that  she  suffered  from  rheumatism,  and  the 
draughts  in  the  shop  were  dangerous  to  her.  Were  she 
to  mention  the  thing  in  the  village,  it  would  rouse  the 
men,  and  she  was,  besides,  not  willing  to  acknowledge 
herself  unequal  to  her  own  protection.  She  resolved 
to  lay  the  matter  before  the  chief :  he  would  know  how 
to  deal  with  them  ! 

For  this  purpose  she  sought  him  one  afternoon  at  the 
castle,  as  they  styled  the  cottage  and  its  precincts,  but 
found  neither  him  nor  Ian,  to  whom  in  her  chief's  ab- 
sence she  would  have  spoken. 

The  attachment  between  the  brothers  was  unusual 
both  in  kind  and  degree.  Alister  regarded  Ian  as  his 
better  self,  through  whom  to  rise  above  himself ;  Ian 
looked  up  to  his  brother  as  the  head  of  the  family,  unit- 
ing in  himself  all  ancestral  claims,  the  representative  of 
an  ordered  and  harmonious  commonwealth.  He  saw  in 
Alister  virtues  and  powers  he  did  not  recognize  in  him- 
self ;  and  his  love  blossomed  into  the  deeper  devotion 
that  he  only  had  been  sent  to  college  :  he  was  bound  to 


THE    BROTHERS.  219 


share  with  him  what  he  had  learned  there.  So  Alister 
learned  more  through  Ian  than  he  would  have  learned 
at  the  best  college  in  the  world.  For  Ian  was  a  born 
teacher,  and  found  intensest  delight,  not  in  imparting 
knowledge — that  is  a  comparatively  poor  thing  —  but 
in  leading  a  mind  up  to  see  what  it  was  before  in- 
capable of  seeing.  It  was  part  of  the  same  gift  that 
he  always  knew  when  he  had  not  succeeded.  In  Alister 
he  found  a  wonderful  docility  —  crossed  indeed  with  a 
great  pride,  against  which  he  fought  sturdily. 

It  is  not  a  good  sign  of  any  age  that  it  should  find  it 
hard  to  believe  in  such  simplicity  and  purity  as  that  of 
these  young  men ;  it  is  perhaps  even  a  worse  sign  of 
our  own  that  we  should  find  it  difficult  to  believe  in 
such  love  between  men.  I  am  sure  of  this,  that  a  man 
incapable  of  loving  another  man  with  hearty  devotion, 
cannot  be  capable  of  loving  a  woman  as  a  woman  ought 
to  be  loved.  From  each  other  these  two  kept  positively 
nothing  secret. 

Alister  had  a  great  love  of  music,  which  however  had 
had  little  development  except  from  the  study  of  the 
violin,  with  the  assistance  of  a  certain  poor  enough  per- 
former in  the  village,  and  what  criticism  his  brother 

O     ' 

could  afford  him,  who,  not  himself  a  player  on  any  in- 
strument, had  heard  much  good  music.  But  Alister 
was  sorely  hampered  by  the  fact  that  his  mother  could 
not  bear  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  instrument.  The  late 
chief  was  one  of  the  few  clergymen  who  played  the 
violin  ;  and  at  the  first  wail  of  the  old  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  her  son,  his  widow  was  seized  with  such  a  pas- 
sion of  weeping,  that  Alister  took  the  utmost  care  she 
should  never  hear  it  again,  always  carrying  it  to  some 
place  too  remote  for  the  farthest-travelling  tones  to 
reach  her.  But  this  was  not  easy,  for  sound  will  travel 


220  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

very  far  among  the  hills.  At  times  he  would  take  it 
to  the  room  behind  Annie's  shop,  then  at  times  to  the 
hut  occupied  by  Hector  of  the  Stags ;  there  at  least 
he  would  not  excruciate  his  host,  and  Rob  of  the 
Angels  would  endure  anything  for  his  chief.  The  place 
which  he  most  preferred  was  too  distant  to  be  often 
visited;  but  there,  soon  after  Christmas,  the  brothers 
resolved  to  have  a  day  together,  a  long  talk,  and  a  con- 
ference with  the  violin.  One  clear  frosty  morning  in 
January,  they  set  out,  provided  for  a  night  and  two 
days. 

The  place  was  upon  an  upland  pasture-ground,  yet  in 
their  possession :  no  farm  was  complete  without  a  range 
in  some  high  valley  for  the  sheep  and  cattle  in  summer. 
On  the  north  of  this  valley  rose  a  bare  hill-top,  whose 
crest  was  a  limestone  rock,  rising  from  the  heather 
about  twenty  feet.  Every  summer  of  their  boyhood, 
they  had  spent  weeks  with  the-  shepherds  at  the  foot  of 
this  hill,  and  upon  its  sides,  and  one  day  discovered  in 
the  rock  a  little  cave  or  hollow,  to  which  thereafter 
they  would  often  take  their  food,  and  one  or  more  of 
the  books  they  had  brought  from  home.  There  they 
would  read  the  English  Ossian  together,  troubled  by  no 
ignorant  unbelief  concerning  it.  There  also  they  would 
make  Gaelic  songs  together,  in  which  Alister  excelled, 
while  Ian  would  do  better  than  he  in  English,  whose 
requirements  in  the  matter  of  rime  are  more  severe. 
When  Ian  was  at  home  in  the  university-vacations,  they 
were  fonder  than  ever  of  going  to  the  hill.  There  Ian 
would  pour  out  to  Alister  of  the  fulness  of  his  gathered 
knowledge,  and  there  and  then  they  made  their  first  ac- 
quaintance with  Shakspere.  Ian  had  bought  some  dozen 
of  his  plays,  in  smallest  compass  and  cleanest  type  at  a 
penny  a  piece.  How  they  revelled  in  them  the  long 


THE    BROTHERS.  221 


summer  evenings !  Ian .  had  bought  also,  in  a  small 
thick  volume,  the  poems  of  Shelley :  these  gave  them 
not  only  large  delight,  but  much  to  talk  about,  for  they 
were  quite  capable  of  encountering  his  vague  philosophy. 
Then  they  had  their  Euclid  and  Virgil ;  and  they  even 
tried  their  mental  teeth  upon  Dante,  but  found  the 
Cornmedia  without  notes  too  hard  a  nut  for  them. 
Every  fresh  spring,  Ian  brought  with  him  fresh  books, 
and  these  they  read  in  their  cave.  But  I  must  not  for- 
get the  cave  itself,  which  also  shared  in  the  progress  of 
the  troglodytes. 

The  same  week 'in  which  they  first  ate  and  read  in 
it,  they  conceived  and  began  to  execute  the  idea  of  de- 
veloping the  hollow  into  a  house.  Foraging  in  their 
father's  little  library  for  mental  pabulum,  they  had 
come  upon  Belzoni's  quarto,  and  had  read,  with  the 
avidity  of  imaginative  boys,  the  tale  of  his  discoveries, 
taking  especial  delight  in  his  explorations  of  the  tombs 
of  the  kings  in  the  rocks  of  Beban  el  Malook :  these  it 
was  that  now  suggested  excavation. 

They  found  serviceable  tools  about  the  place  at  home, 
and  the  rock  was  by  no  means  of  the  hardest ;  not  a 
summer,  for  the  last  seventeen  years,  had  passed  with- 
out a  good  .deal  being  done',  Alister  working  alone  when 
Ian  was  away,  and  the  cave  had  now  assumed  notable 
dimensions.  It  was  called  by  the  people  uamh  an 
ceann,  the  cave  of  the  chief,  and  regarded  as  his  coun- 
try house.  All  around  it  was  covered  with  snow 
throughout  the  winter  and  spring,  and  supplied  little  to 
the  need  of  man  beyond  the  blessed  air,  and  a  glorious 
vision  of  sea  and  land,  mountain  and  valley,  falling 
water,  gleaming  lake,  and  shadowy  cliff. 

Crossing  the  wide  space  where  so  lately  they  had 
burned  the  heather  that  the  sheep  might  have  its  young 


222  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

shoots  in  the  spring,  the  brothers  stood,  and  gazed  around 
with  delight. 

"  There  is  nothing  like  this  anywhere! "  said  Ian. 

"  Do  you  mean  nothing  so  beautiful  ?  "  asked  Alister. 

"  No ;  I  mean  just  what  I  say  :  there  is  nothing  like 
it.  I  do  not  care  a  straw  whether  one  scene  be  more  or 
less  beautiful  than  another  ;  what  I  do  care  for  is  —  its 
individual  speech  to  my  soul.  I  feel  towards  visions  of 
nature  as  towards  writers.  If  a  book  or  a  prospect 
produces  in  my  mind  a  word  that  no  other  produces, 
then  I  feel  it  individual,  original,  real,  therefore  pre- 
cious. If  a  scene  or  a  song  play  upon  the  organ  of 
my  heart  as  no  other  scene  or  song  could,  why  should  I 
ask  whether  it  be  beautiful  at  all  ?  A  bare  hill  may  be 
more  to  me  than  a  garden  of  Damascus,  but  I  love 
them  both.  The  first  question  as  to  any  work  of  art  is 
whether  it  puts  the  willing  soul  into  any  mood  at  all 
peculiar ;  the  second,  what  that  mood  is.  It  matters  to 
me  little  by  whom  our  Ossian  was  composed,  and  it 
matters  nothing  whoever  may  in  his  ignorance  declare 
that  there  never  was  an  Ossian  any  more  than  a  Homer : 
here  is  a  something  that  has  power  over  my  heart  and 
soul,  works  upon  them  as  not  anything  else  does.  I  do 
not  ask  whether  its  power  be  great  or  small ;  that  it 
is  a  peculiar  power,  one  by  itself,  is  enough ;  that  it  puts 
my  spiritual  consciousness  in  a  certain  individual  condi- 
tion such  in  character  as  nothing  else  can  produce  :  either 
a  man  or  nation  must  have  felt  to  make  me  so  feel." 

They  were  now  climbing  the  last  slope  of  the  hill  on 
whose  top  stood  their  play-house,  dearer  now  than  in 
their  boyhood.  Alister  occasionally  went  there  for  a 
few  hours  solitude,  and  Ian  would  write  there  for  days 
at  a  time,  but  in  general  when  they  visited  the  place  it 
was  together. 


THE    BROTHERS.  223 


Alister  unlocked  the  door  and  they  entered. 

Unwilling  to  spend  labor  on  the  introductory,  they  had 
made  the  first  chamber  hardly  larger  than  the  room 
required  for  opening  the  door.  Immediately  within, 
another  door  opened  into  a  room  of  about  eight  feet  by 
twelve,  with  two  small  windows.  Its  hearth  was  a  pro- 
jection from  the  floor  of  the  live  stone ;  and  there,  all 
ready  for  lighting,  was  a  large  pile  of  peats.  The  chim- 
ney went  up  through  the  rock,  and  had  been  the  most 
difficult  part  of  their  undertaking.  They  had  to  work 
it  much  wider  than  was  necessary  for  the  smoke,  and 
then  to  reduce  its  capacity  with  stone  and  lime.  Now 
and  then  it  smoked,  but  peat-smoke  is  sweet. 

The  thing  first  after  lighting  the  fire,  was  to  fill  their 
kettle,  for  which  they  had  to  take  off  the  snow-lid  of  a 
little  spring  near  at  hand.  Then  they  made  a  good 
meal  of  tea,  mutton-ham,  oatcakes  and  butter.  The 
only  seats  in  the  room  were  a  bench  in  each  of  two  of 
the  walls,  and  a  chair  on  each  side  of  the  hearth,  all  of 
the  live  rock. 

From  this  opened  two  rooms  more  —  one  a  bedroom, 
with  a  bed  in  the  rock-wall,  big  enough  for  two.  Dry 
heather  stood  thick  between  the  mattress  and  the  stone. 
The  third  room,  of  which  they  intended  making  a  par- 
lor, was  not  yet  more  than  half  excavated ;  and  there, 
when  they  had  rested  a  while,  they  began  to  bore  and 
chip  at  the  stone.  Their  progress  was  slow,  for  the 
grain  was  close :  never,  even  when  the  snow  above  was 
melting,  had  the  least  moisture  come  through.  For  a 
time  they  worked  and  talked :  both  talked  better  when 
using  their  hands.  Then  Alister  stopped,  and  played 
while  Ian  went  on ;  Ian  stopped  next,  and  read  aloud 
from  a  manuscript  he  had  brought,  while  his  brother 
resumed  work.  But  first  he  gave  Alister  the  history  of 


224  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

what  he  was  going  to  read.  It  was  suggested,  he  said, 
by  that  strange  poem  of  William  Mayne's  called  "  The 
Dead  Man's  Moan,"  founded  on  the  silly  notion  that 
the  man  himself  is  buried  when  his  body  is  laid  in  the 
grave. 

I  wish  I  were  up  to  straught  my  banes, 
And  drive  frae  my  face  the  cauld,  dead  air; 

I  wish  I  were  up,  that  the  friendly  rains 
Micht  wash  the  dark  mould  frae  my  tangled  hair ! 

quoted  Ian,  and  added,  "  I  thought  I  should  like  to  fol- 
low out  the  idea,  and  see  what  ought  to  come  of  it.  I 
therefore  supposed  a  person  seized  by  some  strange  ill- 
ness of  the  cataleptic  kind,  from  which  he  comes  to  him- 
self still  in  the  body,  but  unable  to  hold  the  least  com- 
munication with  the  outer  world.  He  thinks  therefore 
that  he  is  dead  and  buried.  Recovering  from  his  first 
horror,  he  reflects  that,  as  he  did  not  make  himself  think 
and  feel,  nor  can  cease  to  think  and  feel  if  he  would, 
there  must  be  somewhere  —  and  where  but  within  him- 
self ?  —  the  power  by  which  he  thinks  and  feels,  a  power 
whose  care  it  must  be,  for  it  can  belong  to  no  other,  to 
look  after  the  creature  he  has  made.  Then  comes  to 
him  the  prayer  of  Job,  '  Oh  that  thou  wouldst  hide  me 
in  the  grave  till  thy  anger  with  me  was  past,  when  thou 
wouldst  want  to  see  again  the  work  of  thy  hands,  the 
creature  thou  didst  make !  Then  wouldst  thou  call, 
and  I  would  answer.'  So  grandly  is  the  man  comforted 
thereby,  that  he  breaks  out  into  a  song  of  triumph  over 
death  and  the  grave.  As  its  last  tone  leaves  his  lips,  a 
kiss  falls  upon  them.  It  is  the  last  thing  he  feels  on 
earth  ;  the  same  moment  he  breaks  from  the  bonds  and 
clouds  of  the  body,  and  enters  into  the  joy  of  the 
Lord." 

Having  thus  prepared  Alister  to  hear  without  having 


THE    BROTHERS.  225 


to  think  as  well  as  attend,  which  is  not  good  for  poetry, 
Ian  read  his  verses.  I  will  not  trouble  my  reader 
with  them  ;  I  am  sure  he  would  not  think  so  well  of 
them  as  did  Alister.  What  Ian  desired  was  sympathy, 
not  admiration,  but  from  Alister  he  had  both. 

Few  men  would  care  to  hear  the  talk  of  those  two, 
for  they  had  no  interest  in  anything  that  did  not  be- 
long to  the  reality  of  things.  To  them  the  things  most 
men  count  real,  were  the  merest  phantasms.  They 
sought  what  would  not  merely  last,  but  must  go  on 
growing.  At  strife  with  all  their  known  selfishness, 
they  were  growing  into  strife  with  all  the  selfishness  in 
them  as  yet  unknown.  There  was  for  them  no  question 
of  choice  ;  they  must  choose  what  was  true ;  they  must 
choose  life  ;  they  must  not  walk  in  the  way  of  death. 

They  were  very  near  to  agreeing  about  everything 
they  should  ask.  Few  men  are  capable  of  understand- 
ing such  love  as  theirs,  the  love  of  David  and  Jonathan, 
of  Shakspere  to  W.  H.,  of  Tennyson  and  Hallam. 
Every  such  love,  nevertheless,  is  a  possession  of  the 
race ;  what  has  once  been  is,  in  possibility  to  come,  as 
well  as  in  fact  that  has  come.  A  solitary  instance  of 
anything  great  is  enough  to  prove  it  human,  yea  neces- 
sary to  humanity.  I  have  wondered  whether  the  man 
in  whom  such  love  is  possible,  may  not  spring  of  an  al- 
together happy  conjunction  of  male  and  female  — a 
father  and  mother  who  not  only  loved  each  other,  but 
were  of  the  same  mind  in  high  things,  of  the  same  lofty 
aims  in  life,  so  that  their  progeny  came  of  their  true 
man-and-womanhood.  If  any  unaccountable  disruption 
or  discord  of  soul  appear  in  a  man,  it  is  worth  while  to 
ask  whether  his  father  and  mother  were  of  one  aspira- 
tion. Might  not  the  fact  that  their  marriage  did  not 
go  deep  enough,  that  father  and  mother  were  not  of 


226 


one  mind,  only  of  one  body,  serve  to  account  for  the 
rude  results  of  some  marriages  of  personable  people  ? 
We  must  not  forget,  however,  the  endless  and  un- 
fathomable perpetuations  of  ancestry.  However  these 
things  may  be,  those  two  men,  brothers  born,  were  also 
so  made  as  to  love  one  another. 

They  ceased  quarrying,  and  returned  to  the  outer 
room.  Ian  betook  himself  to  drawing  figures  on  one  of 
the  walls,  with  the  intention  of  carving  them  in  dipped 
relief.  Alister  proceeded  to  take  their  bedding  from 
before  the  fire,  and  prepare  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    PRINCESS. 

WHILE  they  were  thus  busied,  Ian,  with  his  face 
to  the  wall,  in  the  dim  light  of  the  candle  by 
which  he  was  making  his  first  rough  sketches,  began 
the  story  of  his  flight  from  Russia.  Long  ere  he 
ended,  Alister  came  close  behind  him,  and  there  stood, 
his  bosom  heaving  with  emotion,  his  eyes  burning  with 
a  dry  fire.  Ian  was  perfectly  composed,  his  voice  quiet 
and  low. 

I  will  not  give  his  tale  in  the  first  person ;  and  will 
tell  of  it  only  as  much  as  I  think  it  necessary  my  reader 
should  know. 

Having  accepted  a  commission  of  the  Czar,  he  was 
placed  in  a  post  of  trust  in  the  palace. 

In  an  apartment  of  it,  lived  one  of  the  imperial 
princesses,  the  burden  of  whose  rank  had  not  even 
the  alleviation  of  society.  Her  disclosure  of  a  sym- 
pathy with  oppressed  humanity  had  wakened  a  doubt 
as  to  her  politics,  and  she  was  virtually  a  prisoner, 
restricted  to  a  corner  of  the  huge  dwelling,  and  allowed 
to  see  hardly  any  but  her  women. 

Her  father  had  fallen  into  disgrace  before  her,  and 
her  mother  was  dead  of  grief.  All  around  her  were 
spies,  and  love  was  nowhere.  Gladly  would  she  have 
yielded  every  rag  of  her  rank,  to  breathe  the  air  of 
freedom.  To  be  a  peasant  girl  on  her  father's  land, 
would  be  a  life  of  rapture ! 

227 


228  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

She  knew  little  of  the  solace  books  might  have  given 
her.  With  a  mind  capable  of  rapid  development,  she 
had  been  ill  taught  except  in  music ;  and  that,  alone, 
cannot  do  much  for  spiritual  development ;  it  cannot 
enable  the  longing,  the  aspiration  it  rouses,  to  under- 
stand itself;  it  cannot  lead  back  to  its  own  eternal 
source. 

She  knew  no  one  in  whom  to  trust,  or  from  whom 
to  draw  comfort;  her  confessor  was  a  man  of  the 
world,  incapable  of  leading  her  to  any  fountain  of  liv- 
ing water ;  she  had  no  one  to  tell  her  of  God  and  his 
fatherhood,  the  only  and  perfect  refuge  from  the  mis- 
eries of  an  unloved  existence. 

A  great  corridor  went  from  end  to  end  of  one  of  the 
wings  of  the  palace,  and  from  this  corridor  another 
passage  led  towards  the  apartment  of  the  princess,  con- 
sisting of  some  five  or  six  rooms.  At  certain  times  of 
the  day,  Ian  had  to  be  at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  at 
the  head  of  a  huge  stair  with  a  spacious  hall-like  land- 
ing. Along  the  corridor  few  passed,  for  the  attendants 
used  a  back  stair  and  passages.  As  he  sat  in  the  recess 
of  a  large  window,  where  stood  a  table  and  chair  for 
his  use,  Ian  one  morning  heard  a  cry  —  whence,  he 
never  knew  —  and  darted  along  the  corridor,  thinking 
assistance  might  be  wanted.  When  about  halfway 
down,  he  saw  a  lady  enter  near  the  end  of  it,  and  come 
slowly  along.  He  stood  aside,  respectfully  waiting  till 
she  should  pass.  Her  eyes  were  on  the  ground,  but  as 
she  came  near  she  raised  them.  The  sadness  of  them 
went  to  his  heart,  and  his  soul  rushed  into  his.  The 
princess,  I  imagine,  had  never  before  met  such  an  ex- 
pression, and  misunderstood  it.  Lonely,  rejected,  too 
helpless  even  to  hope,  it  seemed  full  of  something  she 
had  all  her  life  been  longing  for  —  a  soul  to  be  her 


THE    PRINCESS.  229 


refuge  from  the  wind,  her  covert  from  the  tempest, 
her  shadow  as  of  a  great  rock  in  the  weary  land  where 
no  one  cared  for  her.  She  stood  and  gazed  at  him. 

Ian  at  once  perceived  who  she  must  be,  and  stood 
waiting  for  some  expression  of  her  pleasure.  But  she 
appeared  fascinated ;  her  eyes  remained  on  his,  for 
they  seemed  to  her  to  be  promising  help.  Her  fascina- 
tion fascinated  him,  and  for  some  moments  they  stood 
thus,  regarding  each  other.  Ian  felt  he  must  break  the 
spell.  It  was  her  part  to  speak,  his  to  obey,  but  he 
knew  the  danger  of  the  smallest  suspicion.  If  she  was 
a  princess  and  he  but  a  soldier  on  guard,  she  was  a 
woman  and  he  was  a  man :  he  was  there  to  protect 
her !  "  How  may  I  serve  your  imperial  highness  ?"  he 
asked.  She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  said,  "  Your 
name  ?  "  He  gave  it.  "  Your  nation  ?  "  He  stated  it. 
"  When  are  you  here  ?  "  He  told  her  his  hours.  "  I 
will  see  you  again,"  she  said,  and  turned  and  went 
back. 

From  that  moment  she  loved  him,  and  thought  he 
loved  her.  But,  though  he  would  willingly  have  died 
for  her,  he  did  not  love  her  as  she  thought.  Alister 
wondered  to  hear  him  say  so.  At  such  a  moment,  and 
heart  free,  Alister  could  no  more  have  helped  falling 
in  love  with  her  than  he  could  help  opening  his  eyes 
when  the  light  shone  on  their  lids.  Ian,  with  a  greater 
love  for  his  kind  than  even  Alister,  and  with  a  tender- 
ness for  womankind  altogether  infinite,  was  not  ready 
to  fall  in  love.  Accessible  indeed  he  was  to  the  finest 
of  Nature's  witcheries ;  ready  for  the  response  as  of 
summer  lightnings  from  opposing  horizons  ;  all  aware 
of  loveliest  difference,  of  refuge  and  mysterious  comple- 
ment ;  but  he  was  not  prone  to  fall  in  love. 

The  princess,  knowing  the  ways  of  the  house,  con- 


230  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

trived  to  see  him  pretty  often.  He  talked  to  her  of 
the  best  he  knew  ;  he  did  what  he  could  to  lighten  her 
loneliness  by  finding  her  books  and  music ;  best  of  all, 
he  persuaded  her  —  without  difficulty  —  to  read  the 
New  Testament.  In  their  few  minutes  of  conference, 
he  tried  to  show  her  the  Master  of  men  as  he  showed 
himself  to  his  friends.  But  their  time  together  was 
always  short,  and  their  anxiety  for  each  other  so  great, 
seeing  that  discovery  would  be  ruin  to  both,  that  they 
could  not  go  far  with  anything. 

At  length  came  an  occasion  when  at  parting  they 
embraced.  How  it  was  Ian  could  not  tell.  Pie 
blamed  himself  much,  but  Alister  thought  it  might 
not  have  been  his  fault.  The  same  moment  he  was 
aware  that  he  did  not  love  her  and  that  he  could  not 
turn  back.  He  was  ready  to  do  anything,  everything 
in  honor;  yet  felt  false  inasmuch  as  he  had  given 
her  ground  for  believing  that  he  felt  towards  her  as  he 
could  not  help  seeing  she  felt  towards  him.  Had  it 
been  in  his  power  to  order  his  own  heart,  he  would 
have  willed  to  love,  and  so  would  have  loved  her.  But 
the  princess  doubted  nothing,  and  the  change  that 
passed  upon  her  was  wonderful.  The  power  of  human 
love  is  next  to  the  power  of  God's  love.  Like  a  flower 
long  repressed  by  cold  she  blossomed  so  suddenly  in 
the  sunshine  of  her  bliss,  that  Ian  greatly  dreaded  the 
suspicion  which  the  too  evident  alteration  might 
arouse :  the  plain,  ordinary-looking  young  woman  with 
fine  eyes,  began  to  put  on  the  robes  of  beauty.  A  soft- 
est vapor  of  rose,  the  color  of  the  east  when  sundown 
sets  it  dreaming  of  sunrise,  tinged  her  cheek ;  it 
grew  round  like  that  of  a  girl ;  and  ere  two  months 
were  gone,  she  looked  years  younger  than  her  age. 
Still  Ian  could  never  be  absolutely  open  with  her; 


THE    PRINCESS.  231 


while  she,  poor  princess,  happy  in  her  ignorance  of  the 
shows  of  love,  and  absorbed  in  the  joy  of  its  great 
deliverance,  jealoused  nothing  of  restraint,  nothing  of 
lack,  either  in  his  words  or  in  the  caresses  of  which  he 
was  religiously  sparing.  He  was  haunted  by  the 
dread  of  making  her  grieve  who  had  already  grieved 
so  much,  and  was  but  just  risen  from  the  dead. 

One  evening  they  met  as  usual  in  the  twilight ;  in 
five  minutes  the  steps  of  the  man  would  be  heard  com- 
ing to  light  the  lamps  of  the  corridor,  his  guard  would 
be  over,  and  he  must  retire.  Few  words  passed,  but 
they  parted  with  more  of  lingering  tenderness  than 
usual,  and  the  princess  put  a  little  packet  in  his  hand. 
The  same  night  his  only  friend  in  the  service  entered 
his  room  hurriedly,  and  urged  immediate  flight :  some- 
thing had  been,  or  was  imagined  to  be  discovered, 
through  which  his  liberty,  perhaps  his  life,  was  com- 
promised; he  must  leave  at  once  by  a  certain  coach 
which  would  start  in  an  hour  :  there  was  but  just  time 
to  disguise  him ;  he  must  make  for  a  certain  port  on 
the  Baltic,  and  there  lie  concealed  until  a  chance  of 
getting  away  turned  up ! 

Ian  refused.  He  feared  nothing,  had  done  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of !  What  was  it  to  him  if  they  did 
take  his  life!  he  could  die  as  well  as  another!  Anx- 
ious about  the  princess,  he  persisted  in  his  refusal,  and 
the  coach  went  without  him.  Every  passenger  in  that 
coach  was  murdered.  He  saw  afterwards  the  signs  of 
their  fate  in  the  snow. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night,  a  company  of  men  in 
masks  entered  his  room,  muffled  his  head,  and  hurried 
him  into  a  carriage,  which  drove  rapidly  away. 

When  it  stopped,  he  thought  he  had  arrived  at  some 
prison,  but  soon  found  himself  in  another  carriage, 


232 


with  two  of  the  police.  He  could  have  escaped  had 
he  been  so  minded,  but  he  could  do  nothing  for  the 
princess,  and  did  not  care  what  became  of  him.  At  a 
certain  town  his  attendants  left  him,  with  the  assur- 
ance that  if  he  did  not  make  haste  out  of  the  country, 
he  would  find  they  had  not  lost  sight  of  him. 

But  instead  of  obeying,  he  disguised  himself,  and 
took  his  way  to  Moscow,  where  he  had  friends. 
Thence  he  wrote  to  his  friend  at  St.  Petersburg.  Not 
many  letters  passed  ere  he  learned  that  the  princess 
was  dead.  She  had  been  placed  in  closer  confinement, 
her  health  gave  way,  and  by  a  rapid  decline  she  had 
gained  her  freedom. 

All  the  night  through,  not  closing  their  eyes  till  the 
morning,  the  brothers,  with  many  intervals  of  thought- 
ful silence,  lay  talking. 

"  I  am  glad  to  think,"  said  Alister,  after  one  of  these 
silences,  "  you  do  not  suffer  so  much,  Ian,  as  if  you  had 
been  downright  in  love  with  her." 

"  I  suffer  far  more,"  answered  Ian  with  a  sigh  ;  <c  and 
I  ought  to  suffer  more.  It  breaks  my  heart  to  think 
she  had  not  so  much  from  me  as  she  thought  she  had." 

They  were  once  more  silent.  Alister  was  full  of 
trouble  for  his  brother.  Ian  at  length  spoke  again. 

"Alister,"  he  said,  "I  must  tell  you  everything!  I 
know  the  truth  now.  If  I  wronged  her,  she  is  having 
her  revenue ! " 

o 

By  his  tone  Alister  seemed  through  the  darkness  to 
see  his  sad  smile.  He  was  silent,  and  Alister  waited. 

"  She  did  not  know  much,"  Ian  resumed.  "  I  thought 
at  first  she  had  nothing  but  good  manners  and  a  good 
heart ;  but  the  moment  the  sun  of  another  heart  began 
to  shine  on  her,  the  air  of  another's  thought  to  breathe 
upon  her,  the  room  of  another  soul  to  surround  her,  she 


THE    PRINCESS.  233 


began  to  grow;  and  what  more  could  God  intend  or 
man  desire  ?  As  I  told  you,  she  grew  beautiful,  and 
what  sign  of  life  is  equal  to  that ! " 

"  But  I  want  to  know  what  you  mean  by  her  having 
her  revenge  on  you  ?  "  said  Alister. 

"  Whether  I  loved  her  then  or  not,  and  I  believe  I 
did,  beyond  a  doubt  I  love  her  now.  It  needed  only 
to  be  out  of  sight  of  her,  and  see  other  women  beside 
the  memory  of  her,  to  know  that  I  loved  her. —  Alister, 
Hove  her  /"  repeated  Ian  with  a  strange  exaltation. 

"  Oh,  Ian ! "  groaned  Alister ;  "  how  terrible  for 
you!" 

"  Alister,  you  dear  fellow !  "  returned  Ian,  "  can  you 
understand  no  better  than  that  ?  Do  you  not  see  I  am 
happy  now?  My  trouble  was  that  I  did  not  love  her  — 
not  that  she  loved  me,  but  that  I  did  not  love  her! 
Now  we  shall  love  each  other  for  ever !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  Ian  ?  " 

"  By  knowing  that  I  love  her.  If  I  had  not  come  to 
know  that,  I  could  not  have  said  to  myself  I  would  love 
her  for  ever." 

"  But  you  can't  marry  her,  Ian !  The  Lord  said  there 
would  be  no  marrying  there ! " 

"  Did  he  say  there  would  be  no  love  there,  Alister  ? 
Most  people  seem  to  fancy  he  did,  for  how  else  could 
they  forget  the  dead  as  they  do,  and  look  so  little  for 
their  resurrection  ?  Few  can  be  said  really  to  believe  in 
•any  hereafter  worth  believing  in.  How  many  go  against 
the  liking  of  the  dead  the  moment  they  are  gone  — 
behave  as  if  they  were  nowhere,  and  could  never  call 
them  to  account !  Their  plans  do  not  recognize  their 
existence ;  the  life  beyond  is  no  factor  in  their  life 
here.  If  God  has  given  me  a  hope  altogether  beyond 
anything  I  could  have  generated  for  myself,  beyond  all 


234 


the  likelihoods  and  fulfilments  around  me,  what  can  I 
do  but  give  him  room  to  verify  it  —  what  but  look  on- 
ward! Some  people's  bodies  get  so  tired  that  they 
long  for  the  rest  of  the  grave  ;  it  is  my  soul  that  gets 
tired,  and  I  know  the  grave  can  give  that  no  rest ;  I 
look  for  the  rest  of  more  life,  more  strength,  more  love. 
But  God  is  not  shut  up  in  heaven,  neither  is  there  one 
law  of  life  there  and  another  here ;  I  desire  more  life 
here,  and  shall  have  it,  for  what  is  needful  for  this 
world  is  to  be  had  in  this  world.  In  proportion  as  I 
become  one  with  God,  I  shall  have  it.  This  world 
never  did  seem  my  home ;  I  have  never  felt  quite  com- 
fortable in  it ;  I  have  yet  to  find,  and  shall  find  the 
perfect  home  I  have  not  felt  this  world,  even  my  moth- 
er's bosom  to  be.  Nature  herself  is  not  lovely  enough 
to  satisfy  me.  Nor  can  it  be  that  I  am  beside  myself, 
seeing  I  care  only  for  the  will  of  God,  not  for  my  own. 
For  what  is  madness  but  two  or  more  wills  in  one 
body?  Does  the  Bible  itself  not  tell  us  that  we  are 
pilgrims  and  strangers  in  the  world,  that  here  we  have 
no  abiding  city  ?  It  is  but  a  place  to  which  we  come 
to  be  made  ready  for  another.  Yet  I  am  sure  those 
who  regard  it  as  their  home,  are  not  half  so  well  pleased 
with  it  as  I.  They  are  always  grumbling  at  it.  '  What 
wretched  weather ! '  they  say.  *  What  a  cursed  mis- 
fortune ! '  they  cry.  '  What  abominable  luck ! '  they 
protest.  Health  is  the  first  thing,  they  say,  and  cannot 
find  it.  They  complain  that  their  plans  are  thwarted, 
and  when  they  succeed  they  do  not  give  them  the  sat- 
isfaction they  expected.  Yet  they  mock  at  him  who 
says  he  seeks  a  better  country!  —  But  I  am  keeping 
you  awake,  Alister !  I  will  talk  no  more.  You  must 
go  to  sleep  ! " 

"  It  is  better  than  any  sleep  to  hear  you  talk,  Ian," 


THE    PRINCESS.  235 


returned  Alister.  "What  a  way  you  are  ahead  of  me ! 
I  do  love  this  world !  When  I  come  to  die,  it  will  tear 
my  heart  to  think  that  this  cave  which  you  and  I  have 
dug  out  together,  must  pass  into  other  hands  !  I  love 
every  foot  of  the  earth  that  remains  to  us  —  every  foot 
that  has  been  taken  from  us.  When  I  stand  on  the 
top  of  this  rock,  and  breathe  the  air  of  this  mountain, 
I  bless  God  we  have  still  a  spot  to  call  our  own.  It  is 
quite  a  different  thing  from  the  love  of  mere  land ;  I 
could  not  feel  the  same  towards  any,  however  beautiful, 
that  I  had  but  bought.  This,  our  own  old  land,  I  feel 
as  if  I  loved  in  something  the  same  way  as  I  love  my 
mother.  Often  in  the  hot  summer-days,  lying  on  my 
face  in  the  grass,  I  have  kissed  the  earth  as  if  it  were  a 
live  creature  that  could  return  my  caresses !  The  long 
grass  is  a  passion  to  me,  and  next  to  the  grass  I  love 
the  heather,  not  the  growing  corn.  I  am  a  fair  farmer, 
I  think,  but  I  would  rather  see  the  land  grow  what  it 
pleased,  than  pass  into  the  hands  of  another.  Place  is 
to  me  sacred  almost  as  body.  There  is  at  least  some- 
thing akin  between  the  love  we  bear  to  the  bodies  of 
our  friends,  and  that  we  bear  to  the  place  in  which  we 
were  born  and  brought  up." 

"  That  is  all  very  true,  Alister.  I  understand  your 
feeling  perfectly ;  I  have  it  myself.  But  we  must  be 
weaned,  I  say  only  weaned,  from  that  kind  of  thing  ;  we 
must  not  love  the  outside  as  if  it  were  the  inside !  Every- 
thing comes  that  we  may  know  the  sender  —  of  whom 
it  is  a  symbol,  that  is,  a  far-off  likeness  of  something  in 
him;  and  to  him  it  must  lead  us  —  the  self-existent, 
true,  original  love,  the  making  love.  But  I  have  felt 
all  you  say.  I  used  to  lie  in  bed,  and  imagine  the 
earth  alive  and  carrying  me  on  her  back,  till  I  fell 
asleep  longing  to  see  the  face  of  my  nurse.  Once,  the 


236  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

fancy  burned  into  a  dream.  I  will  try  to  recall  a  son- 
net I  made  the  same  night,  before  the  dream  came: 
it  will  help  you  to  understand  it.  I  was  then  about 
nineteen,  I  believe.  I  did  not  care  for  it  enough  to  re- 
peat it  to  you,  and  I  fear  we  shall  find  it  very  bad." 

Stopping  often  to  recall  and  rearrange  words  and 
lines,  Ian  completed  at  last  the  following  sonnet :  — 

She  set  me  on  my  feet  with  steady  hand, 
Among  the  crowding  marvels  on  her  face, 
Bidding  me  rise,  and  run  a  strong  man's  race  ; 
Swathed  me  in  circumstance's  swaddling  band;] 
Fed  me  with  her  own  self;  then  bade  me  stand 
JI/?/self  entire,  —  while  she  was  but  a  place 
Hewn  for  my  dwelling  from  the  midst  of  space,  — 
A  something  better  than  her  sea  or  land. 
Nay,  Earth  !  thou  bearest  me  upon  thy  back, 
Like  a  rough  nurse,  and  I  can  almost  feel 
A  touch  of  kindness  in  thy  hands  of  steel, 
Although  I  cannot  see  thy  face,  and  track 
An  onward  purpose  shining  through  its  black, 
Instinct  with  prophecy  of  future  weal. 

"  There !    It  is  not  much,  is  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  beautiful !  "  protested  Alister. 

"  It  is  worth  nothing,"  said  Ian,  "  except  between 
you  and  me  —  and  that  it  will  make  you  understand 
my  dream.  That  I  shall  never  forget.  When  a  dream 
does  us  good  we  don't  forget  it. 

"  I  thought  I  was  borne  on  the  back  of  something 
great  and  strong  —  I  could  not  tell  what ;  it  might  be 
an  elephant  or  a  great  eagle  or  a  lion.  It  went  sweep- 
ing swiftly  along,  the  wind  of  its  flight  roaring  past 
me  in  a  tempest.  I  began  to  grow  frightened.  Where 
could  this  creature  of  such  awful  speed  be  taking  me  ? 
I  prayed  to  God  to  take  care  of  me.  The  head  of  the 
creature  turned  to  me,  and  I  saw  the  face  of  a  woman, 
grand  and  beautiful.  Never  with  my  open  eyes  have  I 


THE    PRINCESS.  237 


seen  such  a  face !  And  I  knew  it  was  the  face  of  this 
earth,  and  that  I  had  never  seen  it  before  because  she 
carries  us  upon  her  back.  When  I  woke,  I  knew  that 
all  the  strangest  things  in  life  and  history  must  one  day 
come  together  in  a  beautiful  face  of  loving  purpose, 
one  of  the  faces  of  the  living  God.  The  very  mother 
of  the  Lord  did  riot  for  a  long  time  understand  him,  and 
only  through  sorrow  came  to  see  true  glory.  Alister, 
if  we  were  right  with  God,  we  could  see  the  earth  van- 
ish and  never  heave  a  sigh  ;  God,  of  whom  it  was  but 
a  shimmering  revelation,  would  still  be  ours  ! " 

In  the  morning  they  fell  asleep,  and  it  was  daylight, 
late  in  the  winter,  when  Alister  rose.  He  roused  the 
fire,  asleep  all  through  the  night,  and  prepared  their 
breakfast  of  porridge  and  butter,  tea,  oat-cake,  and 
mutton-ham.  When  it  was  nearly  ready,  he  woke  Ia», 
and  when  they  had  eaten,  they  read  together  a  portion 
of  the  Bible,  that  they  might  not  forget,  and  start  the 
life  of  the  day  without  trust  in  the  life-causing  God. 

"All  that  is  not  rooted  in  him,"  Ian  would  say,  "all 
hope  or  joy  that  does  not  turn  its  face  upward,  is  an 
idolatry.  Our  prayers  must  rise  that  our  thoughts 
may  follow  them." 

The  portion  they  read  contained  the  saying  of  the 
Lord  that  we  must  forsake  all  and  follow  him  if  we 
would  be  his  disciples. 

"  I  am  sometimes  almost  terrified,"  said  Ian,  "  at  the 
scope  of  the  demands  made  upon  me,  at  the  perfection 
of  the  self-abandonment  required  of  me  ;  yet  outside  of 
such  absoluteness  can  be  no  salvation.  In  God  we  live 
every  commonplace  as  well  as  most  exalted  moment  of 
our  lives.  To  trust  in  him  when  no  need  is  pressing, 
when  things  seem  going  right  of  themselves,  may  be 
harder  than  when  things  seem  going  wrong.  At  no 


238  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

time  is  there  any  danger  except  in  ourselves,  and  the 
only  danger  is  of  brushing  in  something  else  than  the 
living  God,  and  so  getting,  as  it  were,  outside  of  God. 
Oh  Alister,  take  care  you  do  not  love  the  land  more 
than  the  will  of  God !  Take  care  you  do  not  love  even 
your  people  more  than  the  will  of  God." 

They  spent  the  day  on  the  hill-top,  and  as  there  was 
no  sign  of  storm,  remained  till  the  dark  night,  when  the 
moon  came  to  light  them  home. 

"  Perhaps  when  we  are  dead,"  said  Alister  as  they 
went,  "we  may  be  allowed  to  come  here  again  some- 
times !  Only  we  shall  not  be  able  to  quarry  any 
farther,  and  there  is  a  pain  in  looking  on  what  cannot 
go  on." 

"It  may  be  a  special  pleasure,"  returned  Ian,  "in 
tkose  new  conditions  to  look  into  such  a  changeless 
cabinet  of  the  past.  When  we  are  one  with  our  life,  so 
that  no  prayer  can  be  denied,  there  will  be  no  end  to 
the  lovely  possibilities." 

"So  I  have  the  people  I  love,  I  think  I  could  part 
with  all  things  else,  even  the  land ! "  said  Alister. 

"  Be  sure  we  shall  not  have  to  part  with  them.  We 
shall  yet  walk,  I  think,  with  our  father  as  of  old,  where 
the  setting  sun  sent  the  shadows  of  the  big  horse-go  wans 
that  glowed  in  his  red  level  rays,  trooping  eastward,  as  if 
they  would  go  round  the  world  to  meet  the  sun  that 
had  banished  them,  and  die  in  his  glory ;  the  wind  of 
the  twilight  will  again  breathe  about  us  like  a  thought 
of  the  living  God  haunting  our  goings,  and  watching  to 
help  us ;  the  stars  will  call  to  us  out  of  the  great  night, 
4  Love  and  be  fearless.  Be  independent ! '  cries  the 
world  from  its  great  Bible  of  the  Belly ;  says  the  Lord 
of  men,  '  Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his 
righteousness,  and  all  these  things  shall  be  added  unto 


THE    PKIKCESS.  239 


you.'  Our  dependence  is  our  eternity.  We  cannot  live 
on  bread  alone ;  we  need  every  word  of  God.  We  cannot 
live  on  air  alone ;  we  need  an  atmosphere  of  living 
souls.  Should  we  be  freer,  Alister,  if  we  were  inde- 
pendent of  each  other  ?  When  I  am  out  in  the  world, 
my  heart  is  always  with  mother  and  you.  We  must 
be  constantly  giving  ourselves  away,  we  must  dwell  in 
houses  of  infinite  dependence,  or  sit  alone  in  the  waste 
of  a  godless  universe." 

It  was  a  rough  walk  in  the  moonlight  over  the  hills, 
but  full  of  rare  delight.  And  while  they  walked  the 
mother  was  waiting  them,  with  the  joy  of  St.  John,  of 
the  Saviour,  of  God  himself  in  her  heart,  the  joy  of 
beholding  how  the  men  she  loved  loved  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    TWO    PAIKS. 

THE  next  morning,  on  the  way  to  the  village,  the 
brothers  overtook  Christina  and  Mercy,  and  they 
walked  along  together. 

The  young  men  felt  the  more  inclined  to  be  friendly 
with  the  girls,  that  the  men  of  their  own  family  were 
so  unworthy  of  them.  A  man  who  does  not  respect  a 
woman  because  she  is  a  woman,  cannot  have  thorough 
respect  for  his  own  mother,  protest  as  he  pleases  :  he  is 
incapable  of  it,  and  cannot  know  his  own  incapacity. 
Alas  for  girls  in  a  family  where  the  atmosphere  of  vile 
thinking,  winnowed  by  the  carrion  wings  of  degraded 
and  degrading  judgments,  infolds  them !  One  of  the 
marvels  of  the  world  is,  that,  with  such  fathers  and 
brothers,  there  are  so  few  wicked  women.  Type  of  the 
greater  number  stands  Ophelia,  poor,  weak,  and  not 
very  refined,  yet  honest,  and,  in  all  her  poverty,  im- 
measurably superior  to  father  and  brother. 

Christina's  condescension  had  by  this  time  dwindled 
almost  to  the  vanishing-point  and  her  talk  was  in  con- 
sequence more  natural :  the  company,  conversation,  and 
whole  atmosphere  of  the  young  men,  tended  to  wake  in 
the  girls  what  was  best  and  sweetest.  Reality  appeals 
at  once  to  the  real,  opens  the  way  for  a  soul  to  emerge 
from  the  fog  of  the  commonplace,  the  marsh  of  plati- 
tude, the  Sahara  of  lies,  into  the  color  and  air  of  life. 
The  better  things  of  humanity  often  need  the  sun  of 
240 


THE    TWO    PAIRS.  241 


friendship  to  wile  them  out.  A  girl,  well-bred,  toler- 
ably clever,  and  with  some  genius  of  accommodation, 
will  appear  to  a  man  possessed  of  a  hundred  faculties 
of  which  she  knows  nothing ;  but  his  belief  will  help  to 
rouse  them  in  her.  A  young  man  will  see  an  angel 
where  those  who  love  her  best  see  only  a  nice  girl ;  but 
he  sees  not  merely  what  she  might  be,  but  what  one 
day  she  must  be. 

Christina  had  been  at  first  rather  taken  with  the 
ploughman,  but  she  turned  her  masked  batteries  now 
mainly  on  the  soldier.  During  the  dinner  she  had  noted 
how  entirely  Ian  was  what  she  chose  to  call  a  man  of 
the  world ;  and  it  rendered  him  in  her  eyes  worthy  of 
conquest.  Besides,  as  elder  sister,  must  she  not  protect 
the  inexperienced  Mercy  ? 

What  is  this  passion  for  subjugation?  this  hunger  for 
homage  ?  Is  it  of  hell  direct,  or  what  is  there  in  it  of 
good  to  begin  with  ?  Apparently  it  takes  possession  of 
such  women  as  have  set  up  each  herself  for  the  object 
of  her  worship,  and  cannot  then  rest  from  the  effort  to 
bring  as  many  as  possible  to  worship  at  the  same  shrine ; 
to  which  end  they  will  use  means  as  deserving  of  the 
fire  as  any  witchcraft. 

Christina  stopped  short  with  a  little  cry,  and  caught 
lan's  arm. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said, "  but  I  cannot  bear  it 
a  moment  longer  !  Something  in  my  boot  hurts  me 
so  !  " 

She  limped  to  the  road-side,  sat  down,  accepted  the  ser- 
vice of  Ian  to  unlace  her  boot,  and  gave  a  sigh  of  relief 
when  he  pulled  it  off.  He  inverted  and  shook  it,  then 
searched  and  found  a  nail  which  must  have  hurt  her 
severely. 

But  how  to  get  rid  of  the  cruel  projection !     lan's 


242  WHAT'S  MICE'S  MINE. 

slender  hand  could  but  just  reach  with  its  finger-tips 
the  haunted  spot.  In  vain  he  tried  to  knock  it  down 
against  a  stone  put  inside.  Alister  could  suggest  noth- 
ing. But  Mistress  Conal's  cottage  was  near :  they 
might  there  find  something  to  help  !  Only  Christina 
could  not  be  left  behind,  and  how  was  she  to  walk  in  a 
silk  stocking  over  a  road  frozen  hard  as  glass.  The 
chief  would  have  carried  her,  but  she  would  not  let 
him.  Ian  therefore  shod  her  with  his  Glengarry  bon- 
net, tying  it  on  with  his  handkerchief. 

There  was  much  merriment  over  the  extemporized 
shoe,  mingled  with  apologetic  gratitude  from  Christina, 
who,  laughing  at  her  poulticed  foot,  was  yet  not  dis- 
pleased at  its  contrast  with  the  other. 

When  the  chief  opened  the  door  of  the  cottage,  there 
was  no  one  to  be  seen  within.  The  fire  was  burning 
hot  and  flameless ;  a  three-footed  pot  stood  half  in 
it ;  other  sign  of  presence  they  saw  none.  As  Alister 
stooped  searching  for  some  implement  to  serve  their 
need,  in  shot  a  black  cat,  jumped  over  his  back  and 
disappeared.  The  same  instant  they  heard  a  groan, 
and  then  first  discovered  the  old  woman  in  bed,  seem- 
ingly very  ill.  Ian  went  up  to  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Mistress  Conal  ?  "  he 
asked,  addressing  her  in  English  because  of  the  ladies. 

Bntin  reply  she  poured  out  a  torrent  of  Gaelic,  which 
seemed  to  the  girls  only  grumbling,  but  was  something 
stronger.  Thereupon  the  chief  went  and  spoke  to  her, 
but  she  was  short  and  sullen  with  him.  He  left  her  to 
resume  his  search. 

"  Let  alone,"  she  cried.  "When  that  nail  leaves  her 
brog,  it  will  be  for  your  heart." 

He  sought  to  soothe  her. 

"  She  will  bring  misery  on  you  ! "  she  insisted. 


THE    TWO    PAIKS.  243 


"  You  have  a  hammer  somewhere,  I  know !  "  said 
Alister,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her  words. 

"  She  shall  be  finding  no  help  in  my  house,"  answered 
the  old  woman  in  English. 

"  Very  well,  Mistress  Conal !  "  returned  the  chief ; 
"  the  lady  cannot  walk  home  ;  I  shall  have  to  carry 
her ! " 

"  God  forbid  !  "  she  cried.  "  Go  and  fetch  a  wheel- 
barrow." 

"Mistress  Conal,  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  carry 
her  home  in  my  arms  !  " 

"Give  me  the  cursed  brog  then.  I  will  draw  the 
nail." 

But  the  chief  would  not  yield  the  boot.  He  went  out 
and  searched  the  hill-side  until  he  found  a  smooth  stone 
of  suitable  size,  with  which  and  a  pair  of  tongs,  he  beat 
down  the  nail.  Christina  put  on  the  boot,  and  they 
left  the  place.  The  chief  stayed  behind  the  rest  for  a 
moment,  but  the  old  woman  would  not  even  acknowl- 
edge his  presence. 

"  What  a  rude  old  thing  she  is  !  That  is  how  she 
always  treats  us  !  "  said  Christina. 

"  Have  you  done  anything  to  offend  her  ?  "  asked 
Alister. 

"  Not  that  we  know  of.  We  can't  help  being  low- 
landers  !  " 

"  She  no  doubt  bears  you  a  grudge,"  said  Ian,  "  for 
having  what  once  belonged  to  us.  I  am  sorry  she  is  so 
unfriendly.  It  is  not  a  common  fault  with  our  peo- 
ple." 

"  Poor  old  thing  !  what  does  it  matter  ! "  said  Chris- 
tina. 

A  woman's  hate  was  to  her  no  more  than  the  barking 
of  a  dog. 


244  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

They  had  not  gone  far,  before  the  nail  again  asserted 
itself;  it  had  been  but  partially  subjugated.  A  consul- 
tation was  held.  It  resulted  in  this,  that  Mercy  and 
the  chief  went  to  fetch  another  pair  of  boots,  while  Ian 
remained  with  Christina. 

They  seated  themselves  on  a  stone  by  the  roadside. 
The  sun  clouded  over,  a  keen  wind  blew,  and  Chris- 
tina shivered.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  go  back  to 
the  cottage.  The  key  was  in  the  door.  Ian  turned  it, 
and  they  went  in.  Certainly,  this  time  no  one  was  there. 
The  old  woman  so  lately  groaning  on  her  bed  had  van- 
ished. Ian  made  up  the  fire,  and  did  what  he  could 
for  his  companion's  comfort.  She  was  not  pleased  with 
the  tone  of  his  attentions,  but  the  way  she  accepted 
them  made  her  appear  more  pleased  than  Ian  cared  for, 
and  he  became  colder  and  more  polite.  Piqued  by  his 
indifference,  she  took  it  nevertheless  with  a  sweetness 
which  belonged  to  her  nature  as  God  made  it,  not  as 
she  had  spoiled  it ;  and  even  such  a  butterfly  as  she, 
felt  the  influence  of  a  man  like  Ian,  and  could  not  help 
being  more  natural  in  his  presence.  His  truth  elicited 
what  there  was  of  hers  ;  the  true  being  drew  to  the  sur- 
face what  there  was  of  true  in  the  being  that  was  not 
true.  The  longer  she  was  in  his  company,  the  more 
she  was  pleased  with  him,  and  the  more  annoyed  with 
her  failure  in  pleasing  him. 

It  is  generally  more  or  less  awkward  when  a  young 
man  and  maiden  between  whom  is  no  convergent  rush 
of  spiritual  currents,  find  themselves  alone  together. 
Ian  was  one  of  the  last  to  feel  such  awkwardness,  but 
he  thought  his  companion  felt  it ;  he  did  his  best,  there- 
fore, to  make  her  forget  herself  and  him,  telling  her 
story  after  story  which  she  could  not  but  find  the  more 
interesting  that  for  the  time  she  was  quieted  from  self, 


THE    TWO   PAIKS.  245 


and  placed  in  the  humbler  and  healthier  position  of  re- 
ceiving the  influence  of  another.  For  one  moment,  as 
he  was  narrating  a  hair'sbreadth  escape  he  had  had  from 
a  company  of  Tartar  soldiers  by  the  friendliness  of  a 
young  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  Siberian  convict,  she 
found  herself  under  the  charm  of  a  certain  potency 
of  which  he  was  himself  altogether  unconscious,  but 
which  had  carried  away  hearts  more  indifferent  than 
hers. 

In  the  meantime,  Alister  and  Mercy  were  walking 
towards  the  New  House  and,  walking,  were  more  com- 
fortable than  those  that  sat  waiting.  Mercy  indeed  had 
not  much  to  say,  but  she  was. capable  of  asking  a  ques- 
tion worth  answering,  and  of  understanding  not  a  little. 
Thinking  of  her  walk  with  Ian  on  Christmas  day, — 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  something  about  your 
brother  ?  "  she  said. 

"  What  would  you  like  to  know  about  him  ?  "  asked 
Alister. 

"  Anything  you  please  to  tell  me,"  she  answered. 

Now  there  was  nothing  pleased  Alister  .better  than 
talking  about  Ian ;  and  he  talked  so  that  Mercy  could 
not  help  feeling  what  a  brother  he  must  be  himself  ;  while 
on  his  part  Alister  was  delighted  with  the  girl  who  took 
such  an  interest  in  Ian  :  for  lan's  sake  he  began  to 
love  Mercy.  He  had  never  yet  been  what  is  called  in 
love  —  had  had  little  opportunity  indeed  of  falling 
in  love.  His  breeding  had  been  that  of  a  gentleman, 
and  notwithstanding  the  sweetness  and  gentleness  of 
the  maidens  of  his  clan,  there  were  differences  which 
had  as  yet  proved  sufficient  to  prevent  the  first  ap- 
proaches of  love,  though,  once  entertained,  they  might 
have  added  to  the  depth  of  it.  At  the  same  time  it 
was  by  no  means  impossible  for  Alister  to  fall  in  love 


246  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

with  even  an  uneducated  girl  —  so  called ;  neither  would 
he,  in  that  case,  have  felt  any  difficulty  about  marrying 
her ;  but  the  fatherly  relation  in  which  he  stood  to- 
wards his  clan,  had  tended  rather  to  prevent  the  thing. 
Many  a  youth  falls  to  premature  love-making  from  the 
lack  in  his  daily  history  of  the  womanly  element.  Ma- 
trons in  towns  should  be  exhorted  to  make  of  their 
houses  a  refuge.  Too  many  mothers  are  anxious  for 
what  they  count  the  welfare  of  their  own  children,  and 
care  nothing  for  the  children  of  other  women  !  But 
can  we  wonder,  when  they  will  wallow  in  meannesses 
to  save  their  own  from  poverty  and  health,  and  damn 
them  into  comfort  and  decay. 

Alister  told  Mercy  how  Ian  and  he  used  to  spend 
their  boyhood.  He  recounted  some  of  their  adventures 
in  hunting,  and  herding  and  fishing,  and  even  in  going 
to  and  from  school,  a  distance  of  five  miles,  in  all 
weathers.  Then  he  got  upon  the  poetry  of  the  people, 
their  legends,  their  ballads  and  their  songs ;  and  at  last 
came  to  the  poetry  of  the  country  itself  —  the  delights 
of  following  the  plough,  the  whispers  and  gleams  of 
nature,  her  endless  appeal  through  every  sense.  The 
mere  smell  of  the  earth  in  a  spring  morning,  he  said, 
always  made  him  praise  God. 

"  Everything  we  have,"  he  went  on,"  must  be  shared 
with  God.  That  is  the  notion  of  the  Jewish  thank-of- 
fering. Ian  says  the  greatest  word  in  the  universe  is 
one  ;  the  next  greatest,  all.  They  are  but  the  two  ends 
of  a  word  to  us  unknowable  —  God's  name  for  himself." 

Mercy  had  read  Mrs.  Barbauld's  Hymns,  and  they  had 
been  something  to  her ;  but  most  of  the  little  poetrys 
she  had  read  was  only  platitude  sweetened  with  sound; 
she  had  never  read,  certainly  never  understood  a  real 
poem.  Who  can  tell  what  a  nature  may  prove,  after 


THE    TWO    PAIRS.  247 


feeding  on  good  food  for  a  while  ?  The  queen  bee  is 
only  a  better  fed  working  bee.  Who  can  tell  what  it 
may  prove  when  it  has  been  ploughed  with  the  plough 
of  suffering,  when  the  rains  of  sorrow,  the  frosts  of  pain, 
and  the  winds  of  poverty  have  moistened  and  swelled 
and  dried  its  fallow  clods  ? 

Mercy  had  not  such  a  sweet  temper  as  her  sister, 
but  she  was  not  so  selfish.  She  was  readier  to  take  of- 
fence, perhaps  just  because  she  was  less  self-satisfied. 
Before  long  they  might  change  places.  A  little  dew  from 
the  eternal  fountain  was  falling  upon  them.  Christina 
was  beginning;  to  be  aware  that  a  certain  man,  neither 

O  C5  ' 

rich,  nor  distinguished  nor  ambitious,  had  yet  a  real 
charm  for  her.  Not  that  for  a  moment  she  would 
think  seriously  of  such  a  man  !  That  would  be  simply 
idiotic !  But  it  would  be  very  nice  to  have  a  little 
innocent  flirtation  with  him,  or  perhaps  a  "  Platonic 
friendship  !  " —  her  phrase,  not  mine.  What  could  she 
have  to  do  with  Plato,  who,  when  she  said  I,  was  aware 
only  of  a  neat  bundle  of  foolish  desires,  not  the  God  at 
her  heart ! 

Mercy,  on  the  other  hand,  was  being  strongly  drawn 
to  the  big,  strong,  childlike  heart  of  the  chief.  There 
is  always,  notwithstanding  the  gulf  of  unlikeness  be- 
tween them,  an  appeal  from  the  childish  to  the  child- 
like. The  childish  is  but  the  shadow  of  the  childlike, 
and  shadows  are  little  like  the  things  from  which  they 
fall.  But  to  what  save  the  heavenly  shall  the  earthly 
appeal  in  its  sore  need,  its  widowhood,  its  orphanage  ? 
with  what  shall  the  childish  take  refuge  but  the  child- 
like ?  to  what  shall  ignorance  cry  but  wisdom  ?  Mercy 
felt  no  restraint  with  the  chief  as  with  Ian.  His  great, 
deep,  yet  refined  and  musical  laugh,  set  her  at  ease, 
lau's  smile,  with  its  shimmering  eternity,  was  no  more 


248  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

than  the  moon  on  a  rain-pool  to  Mercy.  The  moral 
health  of  the  chief  made  an  atmosphere  of  conscious 
safety  around  her.  By  the  side  of  no  other  man  had 
she  ever  felt  so.  With  him  she  was  at  home,  there- 
fore happy.  She  was  already  growing  under  his  genial 
influence.  Every  being  has  such  influence  who  is  not 
selfish. 

When  Christina  was  re-shod,  and  they  were  leaving 
the  cottage,  Ian,  happening  to  look  behind  him,  spied 
the  black  cat  perched  on  the  edge  of  the  chimney  in  the 
smoke. 

"  Look  at  her,"  he  said,  "  pretending  innocence  when 
she  has  been  watching  you  all  the  time  !  " 

Alister  took  up  a  stone. 

"  Don't  hurt  her,"  said  Ian,  and  he  dropped  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

AN   CABRACH   MOK. 

I  HA  YE  already  said  that  the  young  men  had  not 
done  well  as  hunters.  They  had  neither  experi- 
ence nor  trustworthy  attendance :  none  of  the  chiefs 
men  would  hunt  with  them.  They  looked  on  them  as 
intruders,  and  yet  those  who  did  not  share  in  their 
chiefs  dislike  to  useless  killing,  respected  it.  Neither 
Christian  nor  Sercombe  had  shot  a  single  stag,  and  the 
time  was  drawing  nigh  when  they  must  return,  the  one 
to  Glasgow,  the  other  to  London.  To  have  no  proof 
of  prowess  to  display  was  humbling  to  Sercombe ;  he 
must  show  a  stag's  head,  or  hide  his  own  !  He  resolved, 
by  himself,  one  of  the  next  moonlit  nights,  to  stalk  a 
certain  great,  wide-horned  stag,  of  whose  habits  he  had 
received  information. 

At  Oxford,  where  Valentine  made  his  acquaintance, 
Sercombe  belonged  to  a  fast  set,  but  had  distinguished 
himself  notwithstanding  as  an  athlete.  He  was  a  great 
favorite  with  a  few,  not  the  best  of  the  set,  much  ad- 
mired by  them  for  his  confidence,  his  stature,  and  his 
regular  features.  These  latter  wore,  however,  a  self- 
assertion  which  of  others  made  him  much  disliked  :  a 
mean  thing  in  itself,  it  had  the  meanest  origin  —  the 
ability,  namely,  'to  spend  money,  for  he  was  the  favor- 
ite son  of  a  rich  banker  in  London.  He  knew  nothing 
of  the  first  business  of  life  —  self-restraint,  had  never 
denied  himself  anything,  and  but  for  social  influences 
249 


250  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

would,  in  manhood  as  infancy,  have  obeyed  every  im- 
pulse. He  was  one  of  the  merest  slaves  in  the  universe, 
a  slave  in  his. very  essence,  for  he  counted  wrong  to 
others  freedom  to  himself,  and  the  rejection  of  the  laws 
of  his  own  being  liberty.  The  most  righteous  interfer- 
ence was  insolence  ;  his  likings  were  his  rights,  and  any 
devil  that  could  whisper  him  a  desire,  might  do  with 
him  as  he  pleased.  From  such  a  man  every  true  nature 
shrinks  with  involuntary  recoil,  and  a  sick  sense  of  the 
inhuman.  But  I  have  said  more  of  him  already  than 
my  history  requires,  and  more  than  many  a  reader,  par- 
taking himself  of  his  character  to  an  unsuspected  de- 
gree, will  believe ;  for  such  men  cannot  know  themselves. 
He  had  not  yet  disgraced  himself  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world :  it  takes  a  good  many  disgraceful  things  to  bring 
a  rich  man  to  disgrace. 

His  sole  attendant  when  shooting  was  a  clever  vaga- 
bond lad  belonging  to  nowhere  in  particular,  and  liv- 
ing by  any  crook  except  the  shepherd's.  From  him  he 
heard  of  the  great  stag,  and  the  spots  in  the  valleys 
which  he  frequented,  often  scraping  away  the  snow  with 
his  feet  to  get  at  the  grass.  He  did  not  inform  him 
that  the  animal  was  a  special  favorite  with  the  chief  of 
Clanruadh,  or  that  the  clan  looked  upon  him  as  their 
live  symbol,  the  very  stag  represented  as  crest  to  the 
chief's  coat  of  arms.  It  was  the  same  Nancy  had  re- 
ported to  her  master  as  eating  grass  on  the  burn-side  in 
the  moonlight.  Christian  and  Sercombe  had  stalked 
him  day  after  day,  but  without  success.  And  now,  with 
one  poor  remaining  hope,  the  latter  had  determined  to 
stalk  him  at  night.  To  despoil  him  of  his  life,  his  glo- 
rious rush  over  the  mountain  side,  his  plunge  into  the 
valley,  and  fierce  strain  up  the  opposing  hill ;  to  see 
that  ideal  of  strength,  suppleness,  and  joyous  flight,  lie 


AN   CABBACH    MOR.  251 

nerveless  and  placid  at  his  feet ;  to  be  able  to  call  the 
thicket-like  antlers  of  the  splendid  animal  his  own,  was 
for  the  time  the  one  ambition  of  Halary  Sercornbe  ;  for 
he  was  of  the  brood  of  Mephistopheles,  the  child  of 
darkness,  whose  delight  lies  in  undoing  what  God  has 
done  —  the  nearest  that  any  evil  power  can  come  to 
creating. 

There  was,  however,  a  reason  for  the  failure  of  the 
young  hunters  beyond  lack  of  skill  and  what  they  called 
their  ill-luck.  Hector  of  the  Stags  was  awake  ;  his  keen, 
everywhere-roving  eyes  were  upon  them,  seconded  by 
the  keen,  all-hearkening  ears  of  Rob  of  the  Angels. 
They  had  discovered  that  the  two  men  had  set  their 
hearts  on  the  big  stag,  an  cabrach  mor  by  right  of  excel- 
lence, and  every  time  they  were  out  after  him,  Hector 
too  was  out  with  his  spy-glass,  the  gift  of  an  old  sea- 
faring friend,  searching  the  billowy  hills.  While  the 
southrons  would  be  toiling  along  to  get  the  wind  of  him 
unseen,  for  the  old  stag's  eyes  were  as  keen  as  his  vel- 
vety nose,  the  father  and  son  would  be  lying,  perhaps 
close  at  hand,  perhaps  far  away  on  some  hillside  of  an- 
other valley,  watching  now  the  hunters,  now  the  stag. 
For  love  of  the  Macruadh,  and  for  love  of  the  stag, 
they  had  constituted  themselves  his  guardians.  Again 
and  again  when  one  of  them  thought  he  was  going  to 
have  a  splendid  chance  —  perhaps  just  as  he  reached  a 
rock  to  which  he  had  been  making  his  weary  way  over 
stones  and  bogs  like  Satan  through  chaos,  and,  raising 
himself  with  weary  slowness,  peeped  at  last  over  the 
top,  and  lo,  there  he  was,  well  within  range,  quietly  feed- 
ing, nought  between  the  great  pumping  of  his  big  joy- 
ous heart  and  the  hot  bullet  but  the  brown  skin  behind 
his  left  shoulder !  —  a  distant  shot  would  forestall  the 
nigh  one,  a  shot  for  life,  not  death,  and  the  stag,  know- 


252  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

ing  instantly  by  wondrous  combination  of  sense  and 
judgment  in  what  quarter  lay  the  danger,  would,  with- 
out once  looking  around  him,  measure  a  hundred  yards 
of  hillocks  and  rocks  between  the  sight-taking  and  the 
pulling  of  the  trigger.  Another  time  it  would  be  no 
shot,  but  the  bark  of  a  dog,  the  cry  of  a  moorfowl,  or 
a  signal  from  watching  hind  that  started  him ;  for  the 
creatures  understand  each  the  other's  cries,  and  when 
an  animal  sees  one  of  any  sort  on  the  watch  to  warn 
covey  or  herd  or  flock  of  its  own  kind,  it  will  itself 
keep  no  watch,  but  feed  in  security.  It  seemed  to  Chris- 
tian and  Sercombe  as  if  all  the  life  in  the  glen  were 
in  conspiracy  to  frustrate  their  heart's  desire ;  and  the 
latter  at  least  grew  ever  the  more  determined  to  kill  the 
great  stag :  he  had  begun  to  hate  him. 

The  sounds  that  warned  the  stag  were  by  no  means 
always,  when  they  seemed,  uttered  by  other  wild  ani- 
mals; they  were  often  but  imitations  by  Rob  of  the 
Angels.  I  fear  the  animal  grew  somewhat  bolder  and 
less  careful  from  the  assurance  thus  given  him  that  he 
was  watched  over,  and  cultivated  a  little  nonchalance. 
Not  a  moment,  however,  did  he  neglect  any  warning 
from  quarter  soever,  but  from  peaceful  feeder  was  in- 
stantaneously wind-like  fleer,  his  great  horns  thrown 
back  over  his  shoulders,  and  his  four  legs  just  touching 
the  ground  with  elastic  hoof,  or  tucking  themselves  al- 
most out  of  sight  as  he  skipped  rather  than  leaped  over 
rock  and  gully,  stone  and  bush  —  whatever  lay  betwixt 
him  and  larger  room.  Great  joy  it  was  to  his  two 
guardians  to  see  him,  and  great  game  to  watch  the  mo- 
tions of  his  discomfited  enemies.  For  the  sake  of  an 
cabrach  mor  Hector  and  Rob  would  go  hungry  for 
hours.  But  they  never  imagined  the  luxurious  Sasun- 
nach,  incapable,  as  they  thought,  of  hardship  or  sus- 


AN    CABRACH    MOR.  253 

tained  fatigue,  would  turn  from  his  warm  bed  to  stalk 
the  lordly  animal  betwixt  snow  and  moon. 

One  night,  Hector  of  the  Stags  found  he  could  not 
sleep.  It  was  not  for  cold,  for  the  night  was  for  the 
season  a  mild  one.  The  snow  indeed  lay  deep  around 
their  dwelling,  but  they  owed  not  a  little  of  its  warrant 
to  the  snow.  It  drifted  up  all  about  it,  and  kept  off 
the  terrible  winds  that  swept  along  the  side  of  the  hill, 
like  sharp  swift  scythes  of  death.  This  was  the  largest 
and  most  comfortable  of  their  huts  —  a  deepish  hollow 
in  the  lime-stone  rock,  lined  with  turf,  and  wattles  filled 
with  heather,  the  tops  outward ;  its  front  a  thick  wall 
of  turf,  with  a  tolerable  door  of  deal.  It  was  indeed 
so  snug  as  to  be  far  from  airy.  Here  they  kept  what 
little  store  of  anything  they  had — some  dried  fish  and 
venison  ;  a  barrel  of  oat-meal,  seldom  filled  full ;  a  few 
skins  of  wild  creatures,  and  powder,  ball,  and  shot. 

After  many  fruitless  attempts  to  catch  the  still  fleet- 
ing vapor  sleep,  raising  himself  at  last  on  his  elbow, 
Hector  found  that  Rob  was  not  by  his  side. 

He  too  had  been  unable  to  sleep,  and  at  last  discov- 
ered that  he  was  uneasy  about  something  —  what,  he 
could  not  tell.  He  rose  and  went  out.  The  moon  was 
shining  very  clear,  and  as  there  was  much  snow,  the 
night,  if  not  so  bright  as  day,  was  yet  brighter  than 
many  a  day.  The  moon,  the  snow,  the  mountains,  all 
dreaming  awake,  seemed  to  Rob  the  same  as  usual ;  but 
presently  he  fancied  the  hillside  opposite  had  come  nearer 
than  usual :  there  must  be  a  reason  for  that !  He  searched 
every  yard  of  it  with  keenest  gaze,  but  saw  nothing. 

They  were  high  above  Glenruadh,  and  commanded 
parts  of  it :  late  though  it  was,  Rob  thought  he  saw 
some  light  from  the  New  House,  which  itself  he  could 
not  see;  it  was  reflected  from  some  evergreen  in  the 


254 


shrubbery ;  so  bright  was  the  moon  that  no  light  on 
the  snow  would  have  caught  his  eye.  He  was  thinking 
some  one  might  be  ill,  and  he  ought  to  run  down  and 
see  whether  a  messenger  was  wanted,  when  his  father 
came  and  joined  him.  He  had  brought  his  telescope, 
a^d  immediately  began  to  sweep  the  moonlight  on  the 
opposite  hill.  In  a  moment  he  touched  Rob  on  the 
shoulder,  and  handed  him  the  telescope,  pointing  with 
it.  Rob  looked  and  saw  a  dark  speck  on  the  snow, 
moving  along  the  hillside.  It  was  the  big  stag.  Now 
and  then  he  would  stop  to  snuff  and  search  for  a  mouth- 
ful, but  was  evidently  making  for  one  of  his  feeding- 
places —  most  likely  that  by  the  burn  on  the  chiefs 
land.  The  light!  could  it  imply  danger?  He  had 
heard  the  young  men  were  going  to  leave :  were  they 
about  to  attempt  a  last  assault  on  the  glory  of  the  glen  ? 
He  pointed  out  to  his  father  the  dim  light  in  the  shadow 
of  the  house.  Hector  turned  his  telescope  thitherward, 
immediately  gave  the  glass  to  Rob,  went  into  the  hut, 
and  came  out  again  with  his  gun. 

They  had  not  gone  far  when  they  lost  sight  of  the 
stag,  but  they  held  on  towards  the  castle.  At  every 
point  whence  a  peep  could  be  had  in  the  direction  of 
the  house,  they  halted  to  reconnoitre  :  if  enemies  were 
abroad,  they  must,  if  possible,  get  and  keep  sight  of 
them.  They  did  not  stop  for  more  than  a  glance,  how- 
ever, but  made  for  the  valley  as  fast  as  they  could  walk : 
the  noise  of  running  feet  would  be  heard  too  far  on 
such  a  still  night.  The  whole  way,  without  sound  ut- 
tered, father  and  son  kept  interchanging  their  ideas  on 
the  matter. 

From  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  habits  of  the 
animal,  they  were  pretty  certain  he  was  on  his  way  to 
the  haunt  aforementioned :  if  he  got  there,  he  would  be 


AN    CABRACH    MOR.  255 

safe  ;  it  was  the  chiefs  ground,  and  no  one  would  dare 
touch  him.  But  he  was  not  yet  upon  it,  and  was  in 
danger ;  while,  if  he  should  leave  the  spot  in  any  west- 
ward direction,  he  would  almost  at  once  be  out  of  sanct- 
uary !  If  they  found  him  therefore  at  his  usual  feed, 
and  danger  threatening,  they  must  scare  him  eastward  ; 
if  no  peril  seemed  at  hand,  they  would  watch  him 
awhile,  that  he  might  feed  in  safety.  Swift  and  all 
but  soundless  on  their  quiet  brogs  they  paced  along : 
to  startle  the  deer  while  the  hunter  was  far  off,  might  be 
to  drive  him  within  range  of  his  shot. 

They  reached  the  root  of  the  spur,  and  approached 
the  castle ;  immediately  beyond  that,  they  would  be  in 
sight  of  the  feeding  ground.  But  they  were  yet  behind 
it  when  Rob  of  the  Angels  bounded  forward  in  terror 
at  the  sound  of  a  gun.  His  father,  however,  who  was  in 
front,  was  off  before  him.  Neither  hearing  anything, 
nor  seeing  Rob,  he  knew  that  a  shot  had  been  fired,  and, 
caution  being  now  useless,  was  in  a  moment  at  full  speed. 
The  smoke  of  the  shot  hung  white  in  the  moonlight 
over  the  end  of  the  ridge.  No  red  bulk  shadowed  the 
green  pasture,  no  thicket  of  horns  went  shaking  about 
over  the  sod.  No  lord  of  creation,  but  an  enemy  of 
life,  stood  regarding  his  work,  a  tumbled  heap  of  death, 
yet  saying  to  himself,  like  God  when  he  made  the  world, 
"  It  is  good."  The  noble  creature  lay  disformed  on  the 
grass ;  shot  through  the  heart  he  had  leaped  high  in  the 
air,  fallen  with  his  head  under  him,  and  broken  his  neck. 

Rage  filled  the  heart  of  Hector  of  the  Stags.  He 
could  not  curse,  but  he  gave  a  roar  like  a  wild  beast, 
and  raised  his  gun.  But  Rob  of  the  Angels  caught  it 
ere  it  reached  his  shoulder.  He  yielded,  and,  with 
another  roar  like  a  lion,  bounded  bare-handed  upon  the 
enemy.  He  took  the  descent  in  three  leaps,  and  the 


256  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

burn  in  one.  It  was  not  merely  that  the  enemy  had 
killed  an  cabracli  mor,  the  great  stag  of  their  love ;  he 
had  killed  him  on  the  chiefs  own  land !  under  the  very 
eyes  of  the  man  whose  business  it  was  to  watch  over 
him !  It  was  an  offence  unpardonable !  an  insult  as 
well  as  a  wrong  to  his  chief  !  In  the  fierce  majesty  of 
righteous  wrath  he  threw  himself  on  the  poacher.  Ser- 
combe  met  him  with  a  blow  straight  from  the  shoulder, 
and  he  dropped. 

Rob  of  the  Angels,  close  behind  him,  dropped  his 
gun,  and  the  devil  all  but  got  into  Rob  of  the  Angels, 
as  his  knife  flashed  pale  in  the  moonlight,  and  he  darted 
on  the  enemy.  It  would  then  have  gone  ill  with  the 
bigger  man,  for  Rob  was  lithe  as  a  snake,  swift  not  only 
to  parry  and  dodge  but  to  strike ;  he  could  not  have 
reached  the  body  of  his  antagonist,  but  Srecombe's 
arm  would  have  had  at  least  one  terrible  gash  from  his 
skean-dhu  sharp  as  a  razor,  had  not,  at  the  moment, 
from  the  top  of  the  ridge  come  the  stern  voice  of  the 
chief.  Rob's  knife,  like  Excalibur  from  the  hand  of 
Sir  Bedivere,  "  made  lightnings  in  the  splendor  of  the 
moon,"  as  he  threw  it  from  him,  and  himself  down  by 
his  father.  Then  Hector  came  to  himself  and  rose. 
Rob  rose  also ;  and  his  father,  trembling  with  excite- 
ment, stood  grasping  his  arm,  for  he  saw  the  stalwart 
form  of  his  chief  on  the  ridge  above  them.  Alister 
had  been  waked  by  the  gun,  and  at  the  roar  of  his 
friend  Hector  sprang  from  his  bed.  But  when  he  saw 
his  beloved  stag  dead  on  his  pasture,  he  came  down  the 
ridge  like  an  avalanche. 

Sercombe  stood  on  his  defence,  wondering  what 
devil  was  to  pay,  but  beginning  to  think  he  might  be 
in  some  wrong  box.  He  had  taken  no  trouble  to  under- 
stand the  boundaries  between  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer's 


AN   CABEACH   MOE.  257 

land  and  that  of  the  chief,  and  had  imagined  himself 
safe  on  the  south  side  of  the  big  burn. 

Alister  gazed  speechless  for  a  moment  on  the  slaught- 
ered stag,  and  heaved  a  great  sigh. 

"Mr.  Sercombe,"  he  said,  "I  would  rather  you  had 
shot  my  best  horse !  Are  you  aware,  sir,  that  you  are 
a  poacher." 

"I  had  supposed  the  appellation  inapplicable  to  a 
gentleman ! "  answered  Sercombe,  with  entire  coolness. 
"  But  by  all  means  take  me  before  a  magistrate." 

"You  are  before  a  magistrate." 

"  All  I  have  to  answer  then  is,  that  I  should  not  have 
shot  the  animal  had  I  not  believed  myself  within  my 
rights." 

"  On  that  very  point,  and  on  this  very  ground,  I  in- 
structed you  myself !  "  said  the  chief. 

"  I  misunderstood  you." 

"  Say  rather  you  had  not  the  courtesy  to  heed  what 
I  told  you  —  had  not  faith  enough  to  take  the  word  of 
a  gentleman !  And  for  this  my  poor  stag  has  suffered." 
He  stood  for  some  moments  in  conflict  with  himself, 
then  quietly  resumed. 

"  Of  course,  Mr.  Sercombe,  I  have  no  intention  of 
pushing  the  matter ! "  he  said. 

"  I  should  hope  not ! "  returned  Sercombe  scornfully. 
"  I  will  pay  whatever  you  choose  to  set  on  the  brute." 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  which  was  less  agreeable  to 
the  chief  —  to  have  his  stag  called  a  brute,  or  be  offered 
blood-money  for  him. 

"  Stag  Ruadh  priced  like  a  bullock  ! "  he  said,  with 
a  slow  smile,  full  of  sadness ;  "the  pride  of  every  child 
in  the  glen !  Not  a  gentleman  in  the  county  would 
have  shot  Clanruadh's  deer." 

Sercombe  was  by  this  time  feeling  uncomfortable, 


258  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

and  it  made  him  angry.  He  muttered  something  about 
superstition. 

"  He  was  taken  when  a  calf,"  the  chief  went  on,  "  and 
given  to  a  great-aunt  of  mine.  But  when  he  grew  up, 
he  took  to  the  hills  again,  and  was  known  by  his  silver 
collar  till  he  managed  to  rid  himself  of  it.  He  shall  be 
buried  where  he  lies,  and  his  monument  shall  tell  how 
the  stranger  Sasunnach  served  the  stag  of  Clanruadh !  " 

"  Why  the  deuce  didn't  you  keep  the  precious  mon- 
ster in  a  paddock,  and  let  people  know  him  for  a  tame 
animal  ?  "  sneered  Sercombe. 

"  My  poor  Ruadh  !  "  said  the  chief  ;  "  he  was  no 
tame  animal!  he  as  well  as  I  would  have  preferred  the 
death  you  have  given  him  to  such  a  fate.  He  lived 
while  he  lived !  I  thank  you  for  his  immediate  transit. 
Shot  right  through  the  heart !  Had  you  maimed  him 
I  should  have  been  angrier." 

Sercombe  felt  flattered,  and,  attributing  the  chief's 
gentleness  to  a  desire  to  please  him,  began  to  conde- 
scend. 

"  Well,  come  now,  Macruadh !  "  he  began  j  but  the 
chief  turned  from  him. 

Hector  stood  with  his  arm  on  Rob's  shoulder,  and 
the  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks.  He  would  not  have 
wept  but  that  the  sobs  of  his  son  shook  him. 

"Rob  of  the  Angels,"  Alister  said  in  their  mother- 
tongue,  "  you  must  make  an  apology  to  the  Sasunnach 
gentleman  for  drawing  the  knife  on  him.  That  was 
wrong,  if  he  had  killed  all  the  deer  on  Benruadh." 

"  It  was  not  for  that,  Macruadh,"  answered  Rob  of 
the  Angels.  "  It  was  because  he  struck  my  father,  and 
laid  a  better  man  than  himself  on  the  grass." 

The  chief  turned  on  the  Englishman. 

"  Did  the  old  man  strike  you,  Mr.  Sercombe  ?  " 


AN  CABRACH  MOR.  259 

«%>,  by  Jove !  I  took  a  little  care  of  that !  If  he 
had,  I  would  have  broken  every  bone  in  his  body  !  " 

"  Why  did  you  strike  him  then  ?  " 

"  Because  he  rushed  at  me." 

"  It  was  his  duty  to  capture  a  poacher !  —  But  you 
did  not  know  he  was  deaf  and  dumb ! "  he  added,  as 
some  excuse. 

"The  deaf  makes  no  difference!"  protested  Rob. 
"Hector  of  the  Stags  does  not  fight  with  his  hands 
like  a  w^oman ! " 

"  Well,  what's  done  is  done !  "  laughed  Sercombe. 
"  It  wasn't  a  bad  shot  anyhow !  " 

"You  have  little  to  plume  yourself  upon,  Mr.  Ser- 
combe ! "  said  the  chief.  "  You  are  a  good  shot,  but 
you  need  not  have  been  so  frightened  at  an  old  man  as 
to  knock  him  down !  " 

"  Come,  come,  Macruadh !  enough's  enough !  it's 
time  to  drop  this ! "  returned  Sercombe.  "  I  can't 
stand  much  more  of  it!  —  Take  ten  pounds  for  the 
head  !  —  Come ! " 

The  chief  made  one  great  stride  towards  him,  but 
turned  away,  and  said, 

"  Come  along,  Rob !  Tell  your  father  you  must  not 
go  up  the  hill  again  to-night." 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Rob ;  "  there's  nothing  now  to 
go  up  the  hill  for !  Poor  old  Ruadh !  God  rest  his 
soul ! " 

"  Amen !  "  responded  the  chief ;  "  but  say  rather, 
*  God  give  him  room  to  run ! ' 3 

"Amen!  It  is  better.  But,"  added  Rob,  "we 
must  watch  by  the  body.  The  foxes  and  hooded 
crows  are  gathering  already  —  I  hear  them  on  the  hills  ; 
and  I  saw  a  sea-eagle  as  white  as  silver  yesterday !  We 
cannot  leave  him  till  he  is  under  God's  plaid  I " 


260  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"Then  one  of  you  come  and  fetch  food  and  nre," 
said  the  chief.  "  I  will  be  with  you  early." 

Father  and  son  communicated  in  silence ;  and  Rob 
went  with  the  chief. 

"  They  worship  the  stag,  these  peasants,  as  the  old 
Egyptians  the  bull !  "  said  Sercombe  to  himself,  walk- 
ing home  full  of  contempt. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  STAG'S  HEAD. 

A  LISTER  went  straight  to  his  brother's  room,  his 
-£A_  heart  bursting  with  indignation.  It  was  some- 
time before  Ian  could  get  the  story  from  him  in  plain 
consecution ;  every  other  moment  he  would  diverge  into 
fierce  denunciation. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  tell  your  master  what  has  hap- 
pened ?  "  at  length  said  Ian.  "  He  ought  to  know  why 
you  curse  one  of  your  fellows  so  bitterly." 

Alister  was  dumb.     For  a  moment  he  looked  aghast. 

"  Ian !  "  he  said :  "  You  think  he  wants  to  be  told 
anything?  I  always  thought  you  believed  in  his  di- 
vinity !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  returned  Ian,  "  but  do  you  ?  How  am  I  to 
imagine  it,  when  you  go  on  like  that  in  his  hearing  ? 
Is  it  so  you  acknowledge  his  presence  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Ian !  you  don't  know  how  it  tortures  me  to 
think  of  that  interloper,  the  low  brute,  killing  the  big 
stag,  the  Macruadh  stag  —  on  my  land  too  !  I  feel  as 
if  I  could  tear  him  in  pieces.  But  for  Him  I  would 
have  killed  him  on  the  spot !  It  is  hard  if  I  must  not 
let  off  my  rage  even  to  you  !  " 

"  Let  it  off  to  him,  Alister ;  he  will  give  you  fairer 
play  than  your  small  brother ;  he  understands  you  bet- 
ter than  I." 

"  But  I  could  not  let  it  off  to  him  that  way !  " 

"  Then  that  is  not  a  good  way.  The  justice  that,  even 
201 


262  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

in  imagination,  would  tear  and  destroy  and  avenge,  may 
be  justice,  but  it  is  devil's  justice.  Come,  begin  now, 
and  tell  me  all  quietly  —  as  if  you  had  read  it  in  a 
book." 

"  Word  for  word,  then,  with  all  the  imprecations  !  " 
said  Alister,  already  a  little  cooler ;  and  Ian  was  soon  in 
possession  of  the  story. 

"  Now  what  would  you  have  me  do  ?  "  said  the  chief, 
ending  a  recital  true  to  the  very  letter,  and  in  a  meas- 
ure calm,  but  at  various  points  revealing,  by  the  merest 
dip  of  the  surface,  the  boiling  of  the  floods  beneath. 

"You  must  send  him  the  head,  Alister,"  answered 
Ian. 

"  Send  —  what  —  who  —  I  don't  understand  you, 
Ian  !  "  returned  the  chief,  bewildered. 

"  Oh,  well,  never  mind  !  "  said  Ian.  "  You  will  think 
of  it  presently  !  " 

And  therewith  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  as  if  he 
would  go  to  sleep. 

It  had  been  a  thing  understood  betwixt  the  brothers, 
and  that  from  so  far  back  in  the  golden  haze  of  child- 
hood that  the  beginning  of  it  was  out  of  sight,  that,  the 
moment  one  of  them  turned  his  back,  not  a  word  more 
was  to  be  said,  until  he  who  thus  dropped  the  subject, 
chose  to  resume  it:  to  break  this  unspoken  compact 
would  have  been  to  break  one  of  the  strands  in  the 
ancient  bond  of  their  most  fast  brotherhood.  Alister 
therefore  went  at  once  to  his  room,  leaving  Ian  loving 
him  hard  and  praying  for  him  with  his  face  to  the  wall. 
He  went  as  one  knowing  well  the  storm  he  was  about 
to  encounter,  but  never  before  had  he  had  such  a  storm 
to  meet. 

He  closed  the  door,  and  sat  down  on  the  side  of  his 
bed  like  one  stunned.  He  did  not  doubt,  yet  could 


THE  STAG'S  HEAD.  263 

hardly  allow  in  verity  he  believed,  that  Ian,  his  oracle, 
had  told  him  to  send  the  antlers  of  his  cabrach  mor,  the 
late  live  type  of  his  ancient  crest,  the  pride  of  Clan- 
ruadh,  to  the  vile  fellow  of  a  Sasunnach  who  had  sent 
out  into  the  deep  the  joyous  soul  of  the  fierce,  bare 
mountains. 

There  were  rushings  to  and  fro  in  the  spirit  of  Alis- 
ter,  wild  and  terrible,  even  as  those  in  the  Valley  of 
the  Shadow  of  Death.  He  never  closed  his  eyes,  but 
fought  with  himself  all  the  night,  until  the  morning 
broke.  Could  this  thing  be  indeed  his  duty  ?  And  .if 
not  his  duty,  was  he  called  to  do  it  from  mere  bravado 
of  goodness  ?  How  frightfully  would  not  such  an  action 
be  misunderstood  by  such  a  man.  What  could  he  take 
it  for  but  a  mean  currying  of  favor  with  him !  Why 
should  he  move  to  please  such  a  fellow !  Ian  was  too 
hard  upon  him!  The  more  he  yielded  the  more  Ian 
demanded !  Every  time  it  was  something  harder  than 
the  last !  And  why  did  he  turn  his  face  to  the  wall  ? 
Was  he  not  fit  to  be  argued  with !  Was  he  one  that 
would  not  listen  to  reason  !  He  had  never  known  Ian 
ungenerous  till  now ! 

But  all  the  time  there  lay  at  his  door  a  thing  calling 
out  to  be  done !  The  thing  he  did  not  like  was  always 
the  thing  he  had  to  do !  he  grumbled ;  but  this  thing 
he  hated  doing !  It  was  abominable !  What !  send  the 
grand  head,  with  its  horns  spread  wide  like  a  half- 
moon,  and  leaning*  like  oaks  from  a  precipice  —  send 
it  to  the  man  that  made  it  a  dead  thing !  Never !  It 
must  not  be  left  behind  !  It  must  go  to  the  grave  with 
the  fleet  limbs !  and  over  it  a  monument  should  rise,  at 
sight  of  which  every  friendly  highlandman  would  say, 
Feuch  an  cabrach  mor  de  Clanruadh  !  What  a  mock- 
ery of  fate  to  be  exposed  for  ever  to  the  vulgar  Cock- 


264  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

ney  gaze,  the  trophy  of  a  fool,  whose  boast  was  to  kill ! 
Such  a  noble  beast !  Such  a  mean  man !  To  mutilate 
his  remains  for  the  pride  of  the  wretch  who  killed  him ! 
It  was  too  horrible ! 

He  thought  and  thought  until  at  last  he  lay  power- 
less to  think  any  more.  But  it  is  not  always  the  devil 
that  enters  in  when  a  man  ceases  to  think.  God  for- 
bid !  The  cessation  of  thought  gives  opportunity  for 
setting  the  true  soul  thinking  from  another  quarter. 
Suddenly  Alister  remembered  a  conversation  he  had 
had  with  Ian  a  day  or  two  before.  He  had  been  saying 
to  Ian  that  he  could  not  understand  what  Jesus  meant 
when  he  said,  "  Whosoever  shall  smite  thee  on  thy  right 
cheek,  turn  to  him  the  other  also ; "  and  was  dissatis- 
fied with  the  way  Ian  had  answered  him.  "  You  must 
explain  it  to  yourself,"  Ian  said.  He  replied,  "If  I 
could  do  that,  I  should  not  have  to  ask  you."  "  There 
are  many  things,"  Ian  rejoined,  " — arithmetic  is  one 
—  that  can  be  understood  only  in  the  doing  of  them." 
"  But  how  can  I  do  a  thing  without  understanding  it?" 
objected  Alister.  "When  you  have  an  opportunity  of 
doing  this  very  thing,"  said  Ian,  "  do  it,  and  see  what 
will  follow !  "  At  the  time  he  thought  Ian  was  refus- 
ing to  come  to  the  point,  and  was  annoyingly  indefinite 
and  illogical ;  but  now  it  struck  him  that  here  was  the 
opportunity  of  which  he  had  spoken. 

"  I  see  !  "  he  said  to  himself. 

"  It  is  not  want  of  understanding  that  is  in  the  way 
now.  A  thing  cannot  look  hateful  and  reasonable  at 
the  same  moment !  This  may  be  just  the  sort  of  thing 
Jesus  meant !  Even  if  I  be  in  the  right,  I  have  a  right 
to  yield  my  right —  and  to  Him  I  will  yield  it.  That 
was  why  Ian  turned  his  face  to  the  wall :  he  wanted  me 
to  discover  that  here  was  my  opportunity !  How  but 


THE  STAG'S  HEAD.  265 

« 

in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ  could  he  have  dared  tell 
me  to  forgive  Ruadh's  death  by  sending  his  head  to 
his  murderer !  It  has  to  be  done !  I've  got  to  do  it ! 
Here  is  my  chance  of  turning  the  other  cheek  and 
being  hurt  again !  What  can  come  of  it  is  no  business 
of  mine !  To  return  evil  is  just  to  do  a  fresh  evil !  It 
may  make  the  man  ashamed  of  himself!  It  cannot 
hurt  the  stag ;  it  only  hurts  my  pride,  and  I  owe  my 
pride  nothing  !  Why  should  not  the  fellow  have  what 
satisfaction  he  may  —  something  to  show  for  his  shot ! 
He  shall  have  the  head. " 

Thereupon  rushed  into  his  heart  the  joy  of  giving 
up,  of  deliverance  from  self ;  and  pity,  to  leaven  his 
contempt,  awoke  for  Sercombe.  No  sooner  had  he 
yielded  his  pride,  than  he  felt  it  possible  to  love  the 
man  —  not  for  anything  he  was,  but  for  what  he  might 
and  must  be. 

"  God  let  the  man  kill  the  stag,"  he  said ;  "  I  will  let 
him  have  the  head." 

Again  and  yet  again  swelled  afresh  the  tide  of  wrath 
and  unwillingness,  making  him  feel  as  if  he  could  not 
carry  out  his  resolve  ;  but  all  the  time  he  knew  the 
thing  was  as  good  as  done  —  absolutely  determined,  so 
that  nothing  could  turn  it  aside. 

"  To  yield  where  one  may,  is  the  prerogative  of  lib- 
erty ! "  he  said  to  himself.  "  God  only  can  give  ;  who 
would  be  his  child  must  yield !  Abroad  in  the  fields  of 
air,  as  Paul  and  the  love  of  God  make  me  hope,  what 
will  the  wind-battling  Ruadh  care  for  his  old  head! 
Would  he  not  say, '  Let  the  man  have  it ;  my  hour  was 
come,  or  the  Some  One  would  not  have  let  him  kill 
me!'?" 

Thus  argued  the  chief  while  the  darkness  endured  — 
and  as  soon  as  the  morning  began  to  break,  rose,  took 


266  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

spade  and  pick  and  great  knife,  and  went  where  Hector 
and  Rob  were  watching  the  slain. 

It  was  bitterly  cold.  The  burn  crept  silent  under  a 
continuous  bridge  of  ice.  The  grass-blades  were  crisp 
with  frost.  The  ground  was  so  hard  it  met  iron  like 
iron. 

He  sent  the  men  to  get  their  breakfast  from  Nancy : 
none  but  himself  should  do  the  last  offices  for  Ruadh ! 
With  skilful  hand  he  separated  and  laid  aside  the  head 
in  sacrifice  to  the  living  God.  Then  the  hard  earth  rang 
with  mighty  blows  of  the  pickaxe.  The  labor  was  se- 
vere, and  long  ere  the  grave  was  deep  enough,  Hector 
and  Rob  had  returned;  but  the  chief  would  not  get 
out  of  it  to  give  them  any  share  in  the  work.  When 
he  laid  hold  of  the  body,  they  did  not  offer  to  help  him ; 
they  understood  the  heart  of  their  chief.  Not  without 
a  last  pang  that  he  could  not  lay  the  head  beside  it,  he 
began  to  shovel  in  the  frozen  clods,  and  then  at  length 
allowed  them  to  take  a  part.  When  the  grave  was 
full,  they  rolled  great  stones  upon  it,  that  it  might  not 
be  desecrated.  Then  the  chief  went  back  to  his  room, 
and  proceeded  to  prepare  the  head,  that,  as  the  sacri- 
fice, so  should  be  the  gift. 

"  I  suppose  he  would  like  glass  eyes,  the  ruffian ! " 
he  muttered  to  himself,  "  but  I  will  not  have  the  mock- 
ery. I  will  fill  the  sockets  and  sew  up  the  eyelids,  and 
the  face  shall  be  as  of  one  that  sleeps." 

Having  done  all,  and  written  certain  directions  for 
temporary  treatment,  which  he  tied  to  an  ear,  he  laid 
the  head  aside  till  the  evening. 

All  the  day  long,  not  a  word  concerning  it  passed 
between  the  brothers ;  but  when  evening  came,  Alister, 
with  a  blue  cotton  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  hiding  the 
head  as  far  as  the  roots  of  the  huge  horns,  asked  Ian  to 


THE  STAG'S  HEAD.  267 

go  for  a  walk.  They  went  straight  to  the  New  House. 
Alister  left  the  head  at  the  door,  with  his  compliments 
to  Mr.  Sercombe. 

As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  sight  of  the  house,  Ian 
put  his  arm  through  his  brother's,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  I  know  now  about  turning  the  other  cheek !  "  said 
Alister.  "  Poor  Ruadh ! " 

"  Leave  him  to  the  God  that  made  the  great  head 
and  nimble  feet  of  him,"  said  Ian.  "  A  God  that  did 
not  care  for  what  he  had  made,  how  should  we  believe 
in !  but  he  who  cares  for  the  dying  sparrow,  may  be 
trusted  with  the  dead  stag." 

"  Truly,  yes,"  returned  Alister. 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Ian,  "and  I  will  sing  you  a 
song  I  made  last  night ;  I  could  not  sleep  after  you  left 
me." 

Without  reply,  Alister  took  a  stone  by  the  wayside, 
and  Ian  one  a  couple  of  yards  away.  This  was  his  song  : 

LOVE'S  HISTORY. 

Love,  the  baby, 

Toddled  out  to  pluck  a  flower; 
One  said,  "  No,  sir  ; "  one  said,  "  Maybe, 

At  the  evening  hour!  " 

Love,  the  boy, 

Joined  the  boys  and  girls  at  play; 
But  he  left  them  half  his  joy 

Ere  the  close  of  day. 

Love,  the  youth, 

Roamed  the  country,  lightning-laden  j 
But  he  hurt  himself,  and,  sooth, 

Many  a  man  and  maiden! 

Love,  the  man, 

Sought  a  service  all  about; 
But  he  would  not  take  their  plan, 

So  they  cast  him  out. 


268  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

Love,  the  aged, 

Walking,  bowed,  the  shadeless  miles, 
Read  a  volume  many-paged, 

Full  of  tears  and  smiles. 

Love,  the  weary, 

Tottered  down  the  shelving  roadj 
At  its  foot,  lo,  night  the  starry 

Meeting  him  from  God! 

"Love,  the  holy!" 

Sang  a  music  in  her  dome, 
Sang  it  softly,  sang  it  slowly, 

"  — Love  is  coming  home! Jt 

Ere  the  week  was  out,  there  stood  above  the  dead 
stag  a  growing  cairn,  to  this  day  called  Cctrn  cC  cabrack 
mdr.  It  took  ten  men  with  levers  to  roll  one  of  the 
boulders  at  its  base.  Men  still  cast  stones  upon  it  as 
they  pass. 

The  next  morning  came  a  note  to  the  cottage,  in 
which  Sercombe  thanked  the  Macruadh  for  changing 
his  mind,  and  said  that,  although  he  was  indeed  glad  to 
have  secured  such  a  splendid  head,  he  would  certainly 
have  stalked  another  deer,  had  he  known  the  chief  set 
such  store  by  the  one  in  question. 

It  was  handed  to  Alister  as  he  sat  at  his  second  break- 
fast with  his  mother  and  Ian :  even  in  winter  he  was 
out  of  the  house  by  six  o'clock,  to  set  his  men  to  their 
work,  and  take  his  own  share  in  it.  He  read  to  the  end 
of  the  first  page  with  curling  lip ;  the  moment  he  turned 
the  leaf,  he  sprang  from  his  seat  with  an  exclamation 
that  startled  his  mother. 

"  The  hound  !  —  I  beg  my  good  dogs'  pardon,  one 
and  all !  "  he  cried.  "  —  Look  at  this,  Ian !  See  what 
comes  of  taking  your  advice ! " 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  gave  you  no  advice  that  had 
the  least  regard  to  the  consequence  of  following  it! 


THE  STAG'S  HEAD.  269 

That  was  the  one  thing  you  had  nothing  to  do  with." 

" Read"  insisted  Alister,  as  he  pranced  about  the 
room.  "No,  don't  read  the  letter;  it's  not  worth 
reading.  Look  at  the  paper  in  it." 

Ian  looked,  and  saw  a  cheque  for  ten  pounds.  He 
burst  into  loud  laughter. 

"Poor  Ruadh's  horns!  they're  hardly  so  long  as 
their  owner's  ears !  "  he  said. 

"  I  told  you  so  ! "  cried  the  chief. 

"  No,  Alister !    You  never  suspected  such  a  donkey ! " 

"  What  is  it  all  about  ?  "  asked  the  mother. 

"  The  wretch  who  shot  Ruadh,"  replied  Alister,"  —  to 
whom  I  gave  his  head,  all  to  please  Ian,  —  " 

"Alister!"  said  Ian. 

Tho  chief  understood,  and  retracted. 

" — no,  not  to  please  Ian,  but  to  do  what  Ian  showed 
me  was  right :  —  I  believe  it  was  my  duty !  —  I  hope  it 
Was !  —  here's  the  murdering  fellow  sends  me  a  cheque 
for  ten  pounds !  —  I  told  you,  Ian,  he  offered  me  ten 
pounds  over  the  dead  body ! " 

"  I  daresay  the  poor  fellow  was  sorely  puzzled  what 
to  do,  and  appealed  to  everybody  in  the  house  for 
advice ! " 

"You  take  the  cheque  to  represent  the  combined 
wisdom  of  the  New  House  ?  " 

"  You  must  have  puzzled  them  all ! "  persisted  Ian. 
"  How  could  people  with  no  principle  beyond  that  of 
keeping  to  a  bargain,  understand  you  otherwise !  First, 
you  perform  an  action  such  persons  think  degrading: 
you  carry  a  fellow's  bag  for  a  shilling,  and  then  him- 
self for  nothing !  Next,  in  the  very  fury  of  indignation 
with  a  man  for  killing  the  finest  stag  in  the  country  on 
your  meadow,  you  carry  him  home  the  head  with  your 
own  hands !  It  all  comes  of  that  unlucky  divine  notion 


270  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

of  yours  to  do  good  that  good  may  come  !     That  shil- 
ling of  Mistress  Conal's  is  at  the  root  of  it  all !  " 

Ian  laughed  again,  and  right  heartily.  The  chief  was 
too  angry  to  enter  into  the  humor  of  the  thing. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Ian,  it  is  too  bad  of  you !  What 
are  you  laughing  at  ?  It  would  become  you  better  to 
tell  me  what  I  am  to  do !  Am  I  free  to  break  the 
rascal's  bones  ?  " 

"  Assuredly  not,  after  that  affair  with  the  bag !  " 

"  Oh,  damn  the  bag  !  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  mother." 

"  Am  I  to  believe  my  ears,  Alister  ?  " 

"  What  does  it  matter,  mother  ?  What  harm  can  it 
do  the  bag  ?  I  wished  no  evil  to  any  creature  !  " 

"  It  was  the  more  foolish." 

"  I  grant  it,  mother.  But  you  don't  know  what  a  re- 
lief it  is  sometimes  to  swear  a  little !  You  are  quite 
wrong,  Ian  ;  it  all  comes  of  giving  him  the  head !  " 

"  You  wish  you  had  not  given  it  him  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  growled  Alister,  as  from  a  pent  volcano. 

"You  will  break  my  ears,  Alister !  "  cried  the  mother, 
unable  to  keep  from  laughing  at  the  indignation  in 
which  he  went  straining  through  the  room. 

"  Think  of  it,"  insisted  Ian  :  "  a  man  like  him  could 
not  think  otherwise  without  a  revolution  of  his  whole 
being  to  which  the  change  of  the  leopard's  spots  would 
be  nothing.  What  you  meant,  after  all,  was  not  cor- 
diality;  it  was  only  generosity;  to  which  his  response, 
his  countercheck  friendly,  was  an  order  for  ten  pounds ! 
—  All  is  right  between  you ! " 

"  Now,  really,  Ian,  you  must  not  go  on  teasing  your 
elder  brother  so !  "  said  the  mother.  Alister  laughed, 
and  ceased  fuming. 

"  But  I  must  answer  the  brute !  "  he  said.  "  What 
am  I  to  say  to  him  ?  " 


THE  STAG'S  HEAD.  271 

"  That  you  are  much  obliged,"  replied  Ian,  "  and  will 
have  the  cheque  framed  and  hung  in  the  hall." 

"  Come,  come !     No  more  of  that ! " 

"  Well,  then,  let  me  answer  the  letter." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  wanted!  " 

Ian  sat  down  at  his  mother's  table,  and  wrote  this : 

"Dear  sir, — -My  brother  desires  me  to  return  the 
cheque  which  you  unhappily  thought  it  right  to  send 
him.  Humanity  is  subject  to  mistake,  but  I  am  sorry 
for  the  individual  who  could  so  misunderstand  his 
courtesy.  I  have  the  honor  to  remain,  sir,  your  obedi- 
ent servant,  Ian  Macruadh." 

As  Ian  guessed,  the  matter  had  been  openly  discussed 
at  the  New  House,  and  the  money  was  sent  with  the 
approval  of  all  except  the  two  young  ladies.  They  had 
seen  the  young  men  in  circumstances  more  favorable  to 
the  understanding  of  them  by  ordinary  people,  and  they 
felt  that  they  were  incapable  of  touching  the  money. 
The  tone  of  lan's  rejection  of  it  considerably  damaged 
in  their  minds  the  prestige  of  Sercombe's  good  looks. 

"  Why  didn't  the  chief  write  the  answer  himself  ?  " 
said  Christian. 

"  Oh,"  replied  Sercombe,  "  his  little  brother  had  been 
to  school  and  could  write  better !  You  should  have 
seen  the  figure  he  cut  without  shoes  or  stockings ! " 

Christina  and  Mercy  exchanged  glances. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  Mercy  said,  "  why  Mr.  Ian  answered 
the  note :  the  chief  had  done  with  you !  " 

"  Or,"  suggested  Christina,  "  the  chief  was  in  such  a 
a  rage  that  he  would  write  nothing  but  a  challenge." 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  he  had !  It  would  have  given 
me  the  chance  of  giving  the  clodhopper  a  lesson." 

"  For  sending  you  the  finest  stag's  head  and  horns  in 
the  country  !  "  remarked  Mercy. 


272  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  I  shot  the  stag !  Perhaps  you  don't  believe  I  shot 
him?" 

"  I  am  sure  no  one  else  did !  The  chief  would  have 
died  sooner ! " 

"  I  am  sick  of  your  chief ! "  said  Christian.  "  A  pretty 
chief  without  a  penny  to  bless  himself !  A  chief,  and 
glad  of  the  job  of  carrying  a  carpet-bag!  You'll  be 
calling  him  my  lord,  next !  " 

"  He  may  at  least  write  Baronet  after  his  name  when 
he  pleases,"  returned  Mercy. 

"  A  likely  story !     Why  don't  he  then  ?  " 

"  Because,"  answered  Christina,  "  both  his  father  and 
himself  were  ashamed  of  how  the  first  baronet  got  his 
title.  It  had  to  do  with  the  sale  of  a  part  of  the 
property,  and  they  counted  the  land  the  clan's  as  well  as 
the  chief's.  They  regarded  it  as  an  act  of  treachery  to 
put  the  clan  in  the  power  of  a  stranger,  and  the  chief 
looks  on  the  title  as  a  brand  of  shame." 

"I  don't  question  the  treachery,"  said  Christian. 
"  A  highlander  is  treacherous !  " 

Christina  had  asked  a  friend  in  Glasgow  to  find  out 
for  her  anything  known  among  the  lawyers  concerning 
the  Macruadhs,  and  what  she  had  just  recounted  was  a 
part  of  the  information  she  had  thereby  received. 

Thenceforward  silence  covered  the  whole  transaction. 
Sercombe  neither  returned  the  head,  sent  an  apology, 
nor  recognized  the  gift.  That  he  had  shot  the  stag  was 
enough ! 

But  these  things  wrought  shaping  the  idea  of  the 
brothers  in  the  minds  of  the  sisters,  and  they  were  be- 
ginning to  feel  a  strange  confidence  in  them,  such  as 
they  had  never  had  in  men  before.  A  curious  little 
halo  began  to  shimmer  about  the  heads  of  the  young 
men  in  the  picture-gallery  of  the  girls'  fancy.  Not  the 


THE  STAG'S  HEAD.  273 

less,  however,  did  they  regard  them  as  enthusiasts,  un- 
fitted to  this  world,  incapable  of  self-protection,  too 
good  to  live  —  in  a  word,  unpractical !  Because  a  man 
would  live  according  to  the  laws  of  his  being  as  well  as 
of  his  body,  obeying  simple,  imperative,  essential  human 
necessity,  his  fellows  forsooth  call  him  unpractical! 
Of  the  idiotic  delusions  of  the  children  of  this  world, 
that  of  being  practical  is  one  of  the  most  ludicrous. 

Here  is  a  translation  made  by  Ian,  of  one  of  Alister's 
Gaelic  songs.     . 

THE  SUN'S  DAUGHTER. 

A  drop  of  water 

In  the  gold  fire 
Of  a  sun's  daughter 

Was  laughing  to  her  sire; 

And  from  all  the  flowers  about, 

That  never  toiled  or  spun, 
The  soul  of  each  looked  out, 

Clear  laughing  to  the  sun. 

I  saw  them  unfolding 

Their  hearts  every  one  I 
Every  soul  holding 

Within  it  the  sun! 

But  all  the  sun's  mirrors 

Vanished  anon ; 
And  their  flowers,  mere  starers, 

Grew  dry  in  the  sun. 

"  My  soul  is  but  water, 

Shining  and  gone! 

*  She  is  but  the  daughter," 

I  said,  "of  the  sun!  " 

My  soul  sat  her  down 

In  a  deep-shaded  gloom; 
Her  glory  was  flown, 

Her  earth  was  a  tomb, 


274  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 


Till  night  came  and  caught  her, 

And  then  out  she  shone ; 
And  I  knew  her  no  daughter 

Of  that  shining  sun  — 

Till  night  came  down  and  taught  her 

Of  a  glory  yet  unknown ; 
And  I  knew  my  soul  the  daughter 

Of  a  sun  behind  the  sun. 

Back,  back  to  him  that  wrought  her, 
My  soul  shall  haste  and  run; 

Straight  back  to  him,  his  daughter, 
To  the  sun  behind  the  sun. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

ANNIE    OF    THE    SHOP. 

AT  the  dance  in  the  chiefs  barn,  Sercombe  had 
paired  with  Annie  of  the  shop  of tener  than  with 
any  other  of  the  girls.  That  she  should  please  him  at 
all,  was  something  in  his  favor,  for  she  was  a  simple, 
modest  girl  —  with  the  nicest  feeling  of  the  laws  of 
intercourse,  the  keenest  perception  both  of  what  is  in 
itself  right,  and  what  is  becoming  in  the  commonest 
relation.  She  understood  by  a  fine  moral  instinct  what 
respect  was  due  to  her,  and  what  respect  she  ought  to 
show,  and  was  therefore  in  the  truest  sense  well-bred. 
There  are  women  whom  no  change  of  circumstances 
would  cause  to  alter  their  manners  even  a  hair's-breadth : 
such  are  God's  ladies ;  there  are  others  in  whom  any 
outward  change  will  reveal  the  vulgarity  of  a  nature 
more  conscious  of  claim  than  of  obligation. 

I  need  not  say  that  Sercombe,  though  a  man  of  what 
is  called  education,  was  but  conventionally  a  gentleman. 
If  in  doubt  whether  a  man  be  a  gentleman  or  not,  hear 
him  speak  to  a  woman  he  regards  as  his  inferior:  his 
very  tone  will  probably  betray  himself.  A  true  gentle- 
man, that  is  a  true  man,  will  be  the  more  carefully  re- 
spectful. Sercombe  was  one  of  those  who  regard  them- 
selves as  respectable  because  they  are  prudent ;  whether 
they  are  human,  and  their  brother  and  sister's  keeper, 
they  have  never  asked  themselves. 

To  some  minds  neither  innocent  nor  simple,  there  is 
275 


276  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE.  , 

yet  something  attractive  in  innocence  and  simplicity. 
Perhaps  it  gives  them  a  pleasing  sense  of  their  supe- 
riority —  a  background  against  which  to  rejoice  in  their 
liberty,  while  their  pleasure  in  it  helps  to  obscure  the 
gulf  between  what  the  man  would  fain  hold  himself  to 
be,  and  what  in  reality  he  is.  There  is  no  spectre  so 
terrible  as  the  unsuspected  spectre  of  a  man's  own  self ; 
it  is  noisome  enough  to  the  man  who  is  ever  trying  to 
better  it :  what  must  it  appear  to  the  man  who  sees  it 
for  the  first  time !  Sercombe's  self  was  ugly,  and  he 
did  not  know  it ;  he  thought  himself  an  exceptionally 
fine  fellow.  No  one  knows  what  a  poor  creature  he  is 
but  the  man  who  makes  it  his  business  to  be  true.  The 
only  mistake  worse  than  thinking  well  of  himself,  is  for 
a  man  to  think  God  takes  no  interest  in  him. 

One  evening,  sorely  in  lack  of  amusement,  Sercombe 
wandered  out  into  a  starlit-night,  and  along  the  road 
to  the  village.  There  he  went  into  the  general  shop, 
where  sat  Annie  behind  the  counter.  Now  the  first 
attention  he  almost  always  paid  to  a  woman,  that  is 
when  he  cared  and  dared,  was  a  compliment  —  the 
fungus  of  an  empty  head  or  a  false  heart;  but  with 
Annie  he  took  no  such  initiative  liberty,  and  she,  accus- 
tomed to  respectful  familiarity  from  the  chief  and  his 
brother,  showed  no  repugnance  to  his  friendly  approach. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Miss  Annie,"  said  Sercombe,  ven- 
turing at  length  a  little,  "  you  were  the  best  dancer  on 
the  floor  that  night !  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Sercombe !  how  can  you  say  so  —  with  such 
dancers  as  the  young  ladies  of  your  party  !  " 

"  They  dance  well,"  he  returned,  "  but  not  so  well  as 
you." 

"  It  all  depends  on  the  dance  —  whether  you  are  used 
to  it  or  not." 


ANNIE    OF    THE    SHOP.  277 

"No,  by  Jove!  Tf  you  had  a  lesson  or  two  such  as 
they  have  been  having  all  their  lives,  you  would  dance 
out  of  their  sight  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  If  I  had  you 
for  a  partner  every  night  for  a  month,  you  would  dance 
better  than  any  woman  I  have  ever  seen  —  off  the  stage 

—  any  lady,  that  is." 

The  grosser  the  flattery,  the  surer  with  a  country  girl, 
he  thought.  But  there  was  that  in  his  tone,  besides 
the  freedom  of  sounding  her  praises  in  her  own  ears, 
which  was  unpleasing  to  Annie's  ladyhood  and  she  held 
her  peace. 

"  Come  out  and  have  a  turn,"  he  said  thereupon.  "  It 
is  lovely  star-light.  Have  you  had  a  walk  to-day  ?  " 

"No,  I  have  not,"  answered  Annie,  casting  how  to 
get  rid  of  him. 

"  You  wrong  your  beauty  by  keeping  to  the  house." 

"  My  beauty,"  said  Annie,  flushing,  "  may  look  after 
itself ;  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  —  neither,  excuse 
me,  sir,  have  you." 

"  Why,  who  has  a  right  to  be  offended  with  the  truth ! 
A  man  can't  help  seeing  your  face  is  as  sweet  as  your 
voice,  and  your  figure,  as  revealed  by  your  dancing,  a 
match  for  the  two !  " 

"  I  will  call  my  mother,"  said  Annie,  and  left  the 
shop. 

Sercombe  did  not  believe  she  would,  and  waited.  He 
took  her  departure  for  a  mere  coquetry.  But  when  a 
rather  grim,  handsome  old  woman  appeared,  asking  him 

—  it  took  the  most  of  her  English  —  "  What  would  you 
be  wanting,  sir?"  as  if  he  had  just  come  into  the  shop, 
he  found  himself  awkwardly  situated.     He  answered, 
with  more  than  his  usual  politeness,  that,  having  had 
the  pleasure  of  dancing  with  her  daughter  at  the  chief's 
ball,  he  had  taken  the  liberty  of  looking  in  to  inquire 


278  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

after  her  health ;  whereupon,  perplexed,  the  old  woman 
in  her  turn  called  Annie,  who  came  at  once,  but  kept 
close  to  her  mother.  Sercombe  began  to  tell  them  about 
a  tour  he  had  made  in  Canada,  for  he  had  heard  they 
had  friends  there ;  but  the  mother  did  not  understand 
him,  and  Annie  more  and  more  disliked  him.  He  soon 
saw  that  at  least  he  had  better  say  nothing  more  about 
a  walk,  and  took  himself  off,  not  a  little  piqued  at 
repulse  from  a  peasant-girl  in  the  most  miserable  shop 
he  had  ever  entered. 

Two  days  after,  he  went  again  —  this  time  to  buy 
tobacco.  Annie  was  short  with  him,  but  he  went  yet 
again  and  yet  sooner:  these  primitive  people  objected 
to  strangers,  he  said ;  accustomed  to  him  she  would  be 
friendly!  he  would  not  rest  until  he  had  gained  some 
footing  of  favor  with  her !  Annie  grew  heartily  offended 
with  the  man.  She  also  feared  what  might  be  said  if 
he  kept  coming  to  the  shop  —  where  Mistress  Conal  had 
seen  him  more  than  once,  and  looked  poison  at  him. 
For  her  own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  Lachlan,  and  for  the 
sake  of  the  chief  she  resolved  to  make  the  young  father 
of  the  ancient  clan  acquainted  with  her  trouble.  It 
was  on  the  day  after  his  rejection  of  the  ten-pound  note 
that  she  found  her  opportunity. 

"  Was  he  rude  to  you,  Annie  ?  "  asked  the  chief. 

"No,  sir  —  too  polite,  I  think:  he  must  have  seen  I 
did  not  want  his  company.  —  I  shall  feel  happier  now, 
you  know." 

"  I  will  see  to  it,"  said  the  chief. 

"  I  hope  it  will  not  put  you  to  any  trouble,  sir ! " 

"  What  am  I  here  for,  Annie !  Are  you  not  my 
clanswoman !  Is  not  Lachlan  my  foster-brother !  —  He 
will  trouble  you  no  more,  I  think." 

The  conversation  took  place  in  the  shop ;  as  Alister 


ANNIE    OF    THE    SHOP.  279 

walked  home,  he  met  Sercombe,  and  after  a  greeting 
not  very  cordial  on  either  side,  said  thus : 

"  I  should  be  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Sercombe,  if  you 
would  send  for  anything  you  want,  instead  of  going  to 
the  shop  yourself.  Annie  Macruadh  is  not  the  sort  of 
girl  you  may  have  sometimes  found  in  such  a  position, 
and  you  would  not  wish  to  make  her  uncomfortable ! " 

Sercombe  was  ashamed,  I  think;  for  the  refuge  of 
the  fool  when  dissatisfied  with  himself,  is  offence  with 
his  neighbor,  and  Sercombe  was  angry. 

"  Are  you  her  father  —  or  her  lover  ?  "  he  said. 

*'  She  has  a  right  to  my  protection  —  and  claims  it," 
rejoined  Alister  quietly. 

"  Protection !  Oh !  What  the  devil  would  you  pro- 
tect her  from?" 

"  From  you,  Mr.  Sercombe." 

"  Protect  her,  then." 

"  I  will.  Force  yourself  on  that  young  woman's  no- 
tice again,  and  you  will  have  to  do  with  me." 

They  parted.  Alister  went  home.  Sercombe  went 
straight  to  the  shop. 

He  was  doing  what  he  could  to  recommend  himself 
to  Christina ;  but  whether  from  something  antagonistic 
between  them,  or  from  unwillingness  on  her  part  to 
yield  her  position  of  advantage  and  sober  liberty,  she 
had  not  given  him  the  encouragement  he  thought  he 
deserved.  He  believed  himself  in  love  with  her,  and 
had  told  her  so  ;  but  the  truest  love  such  a  man  can  feel, 
is  a  poor  thing.  He  admired,  and  desired,  and  thought 
he  loved  her  beauty,  and  that  he  called  being  in  love 
with  her !  He  did  not  think  much  about  her  money, 
but  had  she  been  brought  to  poverty,  he  would  at  least 
have  hesitated  about  marrying  her. 

In  the  family  he  was  regarded  as  her  affianced,  al- 


280  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

though  she  did  not  treat  him  as  such,  but  merely  went 
on  bewitching  him,  pleased  that  at  least  he  was  a  man 
of  the  world. 

While  one  is  yet  only  in  love,  the  real  person,  the 
love-capable,  lies  covered  with  the  rose-leaves  of  a 
thousand  sleepy-eyed  dreams,  and  through  them  come 
to  the  dreamer  but  the  barest  hints  of  the  real  person 
of  whom  is  the  dream.  A  thousand  fancies  fly  out,  ap- 
proach, and  cross,  but  never  meet;  the  man  and  the 
woman  are  pleased,  not  with  each  other,  but  each  with 
the  fancied  other.  The  merest  common  likings  are 
taken  for  signs  of  a  wonderful  sympathy,  of  a  radical 
unity  —  of  essential  capacity,  therefore,  of  loving  and 
being  loved ;  at  a  hundred  points  their  souls  seem  to 
touch,  but  their  contacts  are  the  merest  brushings  as  of 
insect-antennae ;  the  real  man,  the  real  woman,  is  all  the 
time  asleep  under  the  rose-leaves.  Happy  is  the  rare 
fate  of  the  true  —  to  wake  and  come  forth  and  meet  in 
the  majesty  of  the  truth,  in  the  image  of  God,  in  their 
very  being,  in  the  power  of  that  love  which  alone  is 
being !  They  love,  not  this  and  that  about  each  other, 
but  each  the  very  other  —  a  love  as  essential  to  reality, 
to  truth,  to  religion  as  the  love  of  the  very  God. 
Where  such  love  is,  let  the  differences  of  taste,  the 
unfitness  of  temperament,  be  what  they  may,  the  two 
must  by  and  by  be  thoroughly  one. 

Sercombe  saw  no  reason  why  a  gentleman  should  not 
amuse  himself  with  any  young  woman  he  pleased. 
What  was  the  chief  to  him  !  Any  how  he  was  not  his 
chief !  If  he  was  a  big  man  in  the  eyes  of  his  little 
clan,  he  was  nothing  much  in  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Sercombe ! 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE    ENCOUNTER. 

A  NNIE  came  again  to  her  chief,  with  the  complaint 
-£-*-  that  Mr.  Sercombe  persisted  in  his  attentions. 
Alister  went  to  see  her  home.  They  had  not  gone  far 
when  Sercombe  overtook  them,  and  passed.  The  chief 
told  Annie  to  go  on,  and  called  after  him, 

"I  must  have  a  word  or  two  with  you,  Mr.  Ser- 
combe ! " 

He  turned  and  came  up  with  long  steps,  his  hands  in 
his  coat-pockets. 

"  I  warned  you  to  leave  that  girl  alone ! "  said  the 
chief. 

"And  I  warn  you  now,"  returned  Sercombe,  "to  leave 
me  alone ! " 

"  I  am  bound  to  take  care  of  her." 

"  And  I  of  myself." 

"  Not  at  her  expense ! " 

"  At  yours,  then  ! "  answered  Sercombe,  provoking  an 
encounter !  to  which  he  was  more  inclined  that  he  saw 
Ian  coming  slowly  up  the  ridge. 

"  You  have  chosen  then  to  forget  the  warning  I  gave 
you  ?  "  said  the  chief  restraining  his  anger. 

"  I  make  a  point  of  forgetting  what  I  do  not  think 
worth  remembering." 

"  I  forget  nothing !  " 

"I  congratulate  you." 

"  And  I  mean  to  help  your  memory,  Mr.  Sercombe." 
281 


282  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Mr.  Macruadh !  "  returned  Sercombe,  "  if  you  ex- 
pect me  not  to  open  my  lips  to  any  hussy  in  the  glen 
without  your  leave,  —  " 

His  utterance  was  cut  short  by  a  box  on  the  ear  from 
the  open  hand  of  the  chief.  He  would  not  use  his  fist 
without  warning,  but  such  a  word  applied  to  any  honest 
woman  of  his  clan,  demanded  instant  recognition. 

Sercombe  fell  back  a  step,  white  with  rage,  then  dart- 
ing forward,  struck  straight  at  the  front  of  his  adver- 
sary. Alister  avoided  the  blow,  but  soon  found  himself 
a  mere  child  at  such  play  with  the  Englishman.  He 
had  not  again  touched  Sercombe,  and  was  himself  bleed- 
ing fast,  when  Ian  came  up  running. 

"  Damn  you !  come  on !  "  cried  Sercombe  when  he 
saw  him ;  "  I  can  do  the  precious  pair  of  you  ! " 

"  Stop !  "  cried  Ian,  laying  hold  of  his  brother  from 
behind,  pinning  his  arms  to  his  sides,  wheeling  him 
round  and  taking  his  place.  "  Give  over,  Alister,"  he 
went  on.  "  You  can't  do  it,  and  I  won't  see  you  pun- 
ished when  he  deserves  it.  Go  and  sit  there,  and  look 
on." 

"  You  can't  do  it,  Ian ! "  returned  Alister.  "  Let  me 
at  him  again !  One  blow  will  serve.  Only  he  jumps 
like  a  goat  that  I  can't  hit  him ! " 

"  You  are  blind  with  blood !  "  said  Ian,  in  a  tone  that 
gave  Sercombe  expectation  of  too  easy  a  victory.  "  Sit 
down  there,  I  tell  you !  " 

"  Mind,  I  don't  give  in !  "  said  Alister,  as  he  went  to 
the  bank  at  the  roadside.  "  If  he  speak  once  again  to 
Annie,  I  swear  I  will  make  him  repent  it ! " 

Sercombe  laughed  insultingly. 

"Mr.  Sercombe,"  said  Ian,  "had  we  not  better  put 
off  our  bout  till  to-morrow  ?  You  have  fought  already ! " 

"  Damn  you  for  a  coward,  come  on ! " 


THE    ENCOUNTER.  283 


"Would  you  not  like  to  take  your  breath  for  a 
moment?" 

"  I  have  all  I  am  likely  to  need." 

"It  is  only  fair,"  persisted  Ian,  "to  warn  you  that 
you  will  not  find  my  knowledge  on  the  level  of  my 
brother's ! " 

"Shut  up,"  said  Sercombe  savagely,  "and  come  on." 

For  a  few  rounds  Ian  seemed  to  Alister  to  be  giving 
Sercombe  time  to  recover  his  wind;  to  Sercombe  he 
seemed  to  be  saving  his  own  wind.  He  stood  to  defend, 
and  did  not  attempt  to  put  in  a  blow. 

"  Mr.  Sercombe,"  he  said  at  length,  "  you  cannot  serve 
me  as  you  did  my  brother." 

"  I  see  that  well  enough.     Come  on ! " 

"  Will  you  give  your  word  to  leave  Annie  of  the  shop 
alone?" 

Sercombe  answered  with  a  scornful  imprecation. 

"  I  warn  you  again,  I  am  no  novice  in  this  business !  " 
said  Ian. 

Sercombe  struck  out  but  did  not  reach  his  antagonist. 

The  fight  lasted  but  a  moment  longer.  As  his  adver- 
sary drew  back  from  a  failed  blow,  Alister  saw  lan's 
eyes  flash,  and  his  left  arm  shoot  out,  as  it  seemed,  to 
twice  its  length.  Sercombe  neither  reeled  nor  staggered 
but  fell  supine,  and  lay  motionless.  They  were  by  his 
side  in  a  moment. 

"  I  struck  too  hard ! "  said  Ian. 

"  Who  can  think  about  that  in  a  fight ! "  returned 
Alister. 

"I  could  have  helped  it  well  enough,  and  a  better 
man  would.  Something  shot  through  me  —  I  hope  it 
wasn't  hatred ;  I  am  sure  it  was  anger  —  and  the  man 
went  down !  What  if  the  devil  struck  the  blow !  " 

"  Nonsense,  Ian ! "  said  Alister,  as  they  raised  him  to 


284  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

carry  him  to  the  cottage.  "It  was  pure  indignation, 
and  nothing  to  blame  in  it ! " 

"I  wish  I  could  be  sure  of  that ! " 

They  had  not  gone  far  before  he  began  to  come  to. 

"  What  are  you  about  ?  "  he  said  feebly  but  angrily. 
"Set  me  down." 

They  did  so.  He  staggered  to  the  roadside,  and 
leaned  against  the  bank. 

"What's  been  the  row?"  he  asked.  "Oh,  I  remem- 
ber !  —  Well,  you've  had  the  best  of  it ! " 

He  held  out  his  hand  in  a  vague  sort  of  way,  and  the 
gesture  invaded  their  soft  hearts.  Each  took  the  hand. 

"  I  was  all  right  about  the  girl  though,"  said  Ser- 
combe.  "  I  didn't  mean  her  any  harm." 

"I  don't  think  you  did,"  answered  Alister;  "and  I 
am  sure  you  could  have  done  her  none ;  but  the  girl  did 
not  like  it." 

"  There  is  not  a  girl  of  the  clan,  or  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, for  whom  my  brother  would  not  have  done  the 
same  —  or  I  either,"  said  Ian. 

"  You're  a  brace  of  woodcocks ! "  cried  Sercombe. 
"  It's  well  you're  not  out  in  the  world.  You  would  be 
in  hot  water  from  morning  to  night.  I  can't  think  how 
the  devil  you  get  on  at  all !  " 

"  Get  on !     Where  ?  "  asked  Ian  with  a  curious  smile. 

"  Come  now !  You're  not  such  fools  as  you  want  to 
look !  A  man  must  make  a  place  for  himself  somehow 
in  the  world !  " 

He  rose,  and  they  walked  in  the  direction  of  the 
cottage. 

"  There  is  a  better  thing  than  that ! "  said  Ian. 

"What?" 

"  To  get  clean  out  of  it ! " 

"  What !  cut  your  throats  ?  " 


THE    ENCOUNTER.  285 


"I  meant  that  to  get  out  of  the  world  clean  was  bet- 
ter than  to  get  on  in  it ! " 

"I  don't  understand  you.  I  don't  choose  to  think 
the  man  able  to  thrash  me  a  downright  idiot ! "  growled 
Sercombe. 

"  What  you  call  success,"  rejoined  Ian,  "  we  count 
not  worth  a  thought.  Look  at  our  clan !  it  is  but  a 
type  of  the  world  itself.  Everything  is  passing  away. 
We  believe  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

"  Come,  come !  fellows  like  you  must  know  that's  all 
bosh !  Nobody  nowadays  —  nobody  with  any  brains  — 
believes  such  rot ! " 

"We  believe  in  Jesus  Christ,"  said  Ian,  "and  are 
determined  to  do  what  he  will  have  us  do,  and  take  our 
orders  from  nobody  else." 

"  I  don't  understand  you !  " 

"  I  know  you  don't.  Y<^  cannot  until  you  set  about 
changing  your  whole  way  of  life." 

"  Oh,  be  damned !  what  an  idea !  a  sneaking,  impos- 
sible idea ! " 

"As  to  its  being  an  impossible  idea,  we  hold  it,  and 
live  by  it.  How  absurd  to  you  it  must  seem,  I  know 
perfectly.  But  we  don't  live  in  your  world,  and  you 
do  not  see  the  light  of  ours." 

"'There  is  a  world  beyond  the  stars  !' — Well,  there 
may  be  ;  I  know  nothing  about  it ;  I  only  know  there  is 
one  on  this  side  of  them,  —  a  very  decent  sort  of  world 
too !  I  mean  to  make  the  best  of  it ! " 

"  And  have  not  begun  yet !  " 

"Indeed  I  have !  I  deny  myself  nothing.  I  live  as 
I  was  made  to  live." 

"If  you  were  not  made  to  obey  your  conscience,  or 
despise  yourself,  you  are  differently  made  from  us,  and 
no  communication  is  possible  between  us.  We  must 


286  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

wait  until  what  differences  a  man  from  a  beast  make 
its  appearance  in  you." 

"  You  are  polite !  " 

"  You  have  spoken  of  us  as  you  think ;  now  we  speak 
of  you  as  we  think.  Taking  your  representation  of 
yourself,  you  are  in  the  condition  of  the  lower  animals, 
for  you  claim  inclination  as  the  law  of  your  life." 

"  My  beast  is  better  than  your  man !  " 

"  You  mean  you  get  more  of  the  good  of  life ! " 

"Right!     I  do." 

The  brothers  exchanged  a  look  and  smile. 

"But  suppose,"  resumed  Ian,  "the  man  we  have 
found  in  us  should  one  day  wake  up  in  you !  Suppose 
he  should  say,  '  Why  did  you  make  a  beast  of  me  ? '  I 
It  will  not  be  easy  to  answer  him ! " 

"That's  all  moonshine!  Things  are  as  you  take 
them."  * 

"  So  said  Lady  Macbeth  till  she  took  to  walking  in 
her  sleep,  and  couldn't  get  rid  of  the  smell  of  the 
blood ! " 

Sercombe  said  no  more.  He  was  silent  with  disgust 
at  the  nonsense  of  it  all. 

They  reached  the  door  of  the  cottage.  Alister  in- 
vited him  to  walk  in.  He  drew  back,  and  would  have 
excused  himself. 

"  You  had  better  lie  down  a  while,"  said  Alister. 

"You  shall  come  to  my  room,"  said  Ian.  "  We  shall 
meet  nobody." 

Sercombe  yielded,  for  he  felt  queer.  He  threw  him- 
self on  lan's  bed,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  fast  asleep. 

When  he  woke,  he  had  a  cup  of  tea,  and  went  away 
little  the  worse.  The  laird  could  not  show  himself  for 
several  days. 

After  this  Annie  had  no  further  molestation.     But 


THE    ENCOUNTER.  287 


indeed  the  young  men's  time  was  almost  up  —  which 
was  quite  as  well,  for  Annie  of  the  shop,  after  turning 
a  corner  of  the  road,  had  climbed  the  hill-side,  and  seen 
all  that  passed.  The  young  ladies,  hearing  contradictory 
statements,  called  upon  Annie  of  the  shop  to  learn  the 
truth,  and  the  intercourse  with  her  that  followed  was 
not  without  influence  on  them.  Through  Annie  they 
saw  further  into  the  character  of  the  brothers,  who,  if 
they  advocated  things  too  fine  for  the  world  the  girls 
had  hitherto  known,  did  things  also  of  which  it  would 
by  no  means  have  approved.  They  valued  that  world 
and  its  judgment  not  a  straw ! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A   LESSON. 

ALL  the  gentlemen  at  the  New  House  left  it  to- 
gether, and  its  ladies  were  once  more  abandoned 
to  the  society  of  Nature,  who  said  little  to  any  of  them. 
For,  though  she  recognized  her  grandchildren,  and  did 
what  she  could  for  them,  it  was  now  time  they  should 
make  some  move  towards  acquaintance  with  her.  A 
point  comes  when  she  must  stand  upon  her  dignity,  for 
it  is  great.  If  you  would  hear  her  wonderful,  or  see 
her  marvellous  treasures,  you  must  not  trifle  with  her ; 
you  must  not  talk  as  if  you  could  rummage  her  drawers 
and  cabinets  as  you  pleased.  You  must  believe  in  her ; 
you  must  reverence  her ;  else,  although  she  is  every- 
where about  the  house,  you  may  not  meet  her  from  the 
beginning  of  one  year  to  the  end  of  another. 

To  allude  to  any  aspect  of  nature  in  the  presence  of 
the  girls  was  to  threaten  to  bore  them :  and  I  heartily 
confess*  to  being  bored  myself  with  common  talk  about 
scenery:  but  these  ladies  appeared  unaware  of  the 
least  expression  on  the  face  of  their  grandmother. 
Doubtless  they  received  some  good  from  the  aspect  of 
things  —  that  they  could  not  help  there ;  Grannie's  hid- 
den, and  therefore  irresistible  power  was  in  operation ; 
but  the  moment  they  had  their  thoughts  directed  to 
the  world  around  them,  they  began  to  gape  inwardly. 
Even  the  trumpet  and  shawm  of  her  winds,  the  stately 
march  of  her  clouds,  and  the  torrent-rush  of  her  waters, 
288 


A    LESSOK.  289 


were  to  them  poor  facts,  no  vaguest  embodiment  of 
truths  eternal.  It  was  small  wonder  then  that  verse 
of  any  worth  should  be  to  them  but  sounding  brass  and 
clanging  cymbals.  What  they  called  society,  its  ways 
and  judgments,  its  decrees  and  condemnations,  its 
fashions  and  pomps  and  shows,  false,  unjust,  ugly,  was 
nearly  all  they  cared  for.  The  truth  of  things,  with- 
out care  for  which  man  or  woman  is  the  merest  puppet, 
had  hitherto  been  nothing  to  them.  To  talk  of  Nature 
was  sentimental.  To  talk  of  God  was  both  irreverent 
and  ill-bred.  Wordsworth  was  an  old  woman ;  St. 
Paul  an  evangelical  churchman.  They  saw  no  feature 
of  any  truth,  but,  like  all  un thinkers,  wrapped  the 
words  of  it  in  their  own  foolishness,  and  then  sneered 
at  them.  They  were  too  much  of  ladies,  however,  to 
do  it  disagreeably;  they  only  smiled  at  the  foolish 
neighbor  who  believed  things  they  were  too  sensible  to 
believe.  It  must,  however,  be  said  for  them,  that  they 
had  not  yet  refused  anything  worth  believing  —  as  pre-. 
sented  to  them.  They  had  not  yet  actually  looked 
upon  any  truth  and  refused  it.  They  were  indeed  not 
yet  true  enough  in  themselves,  to  suspect  the  presence 
of  either  a  truth  or  a  falsehood. 

A  thaw  came,  and  the  ways  were  bad,  and  they 
found  the  time  hang  yet  heavier  on  their  unaided 
hands.  An  intercourse  by  degrees  established  itself 
between  Mrs.  Macruadh  and  the  well-meaning,  hand- 
some, smiling  Mrs.  Palmer,  rendering  it  natural  for  the 
girls  to  go  rather  frequently  to  the  cottage.  They 
made  themselves  agreeable  to  the  mother,  and  the  law 
of  her  presence  showed  to  better  advantage.  With 
their  love  of  literature,  it  was  natural  also  that  the 
young  men  should  at  such  times  not  only  talk  about 
books,  but  occasionally  read  for  their  entertainment 


290 


from  some  loved  author;  so  that  now,  for  the  first 
time  in  their  lives,  the  young  ladies  were  brought 
under  direct  teaching  of  a  worthy  sort  —  they  had  had 
but  a  mockery  of  it  at  school  and  church  —  and  a  little 
light  began  to  soak  through  their  unseeking  eyes. 
Among  many  others,  however,  less  manifest,  one  ob- 
struction to  their  progress  lay  in  the  fact  that  Chris- 
tina, whose  perception  in  some  directions  was  quick 
enough,  would  always  make  a  dart  at  the  comical  side 
of  anything  that  could  be  comically  turned,  so  dis- 
turbing upon  occasion  the  whole  spiritual  atmosphere 
about  some  delicate  epiphany :  this  to  both  Alister  and 
Ian  was  unbearable.  She  offended  chiefly  in  respect 
of  Wordsworth  —  who  had  not  humor  enough  always 
to  perceive  what  seriously  meant  expression  might  sug- 
gest a  ludicrous  idea. 

One  time,  reading  from  the  Excursion,  Tan  came  to 
the  verse  —  not  to  be  found,  I  think,  in  later  editions  — 

Perhaps  it  is  not  he  but  some  one  else :  — 

"  Awful  idea ! "  exclaimed  Christina,  with  sepulchral 
tone;  —  "'some  one  else!'  It  makes  me  shudder! 
Think  of  it !  Who  might  it  not  have  been ! " 

Ian  closed  the  book,  and  persistently  refused  to  read 
more  that  day. 

Another  time  he  was  reading,  in  illustration  of  some- 
thing, Wordsworth's  poem,  "  To  a  Skylark,"  the  earlier 
of  the  two  with  that  title,  when  he  came  to  the  unfor- 
tunate line,  —  "  Happy,  happy  liver !  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad  to  know  that !  "  cried  Christina.  "  I 
always  thought  the  poor  lark  must  have  a  bad  diges- 
tion —  he  was  up  so  early ! " 

Ian  refused  to  finish  the  poem,  although  Mercy 
"begged  hard. 


A    LESSON.  291 


The  next  time  they  came,  he  proposed  to  "read 
something  in  Miss  Palmer's  style,"  and  took  up  a  vol- 
ume of  Hood,  and,  avoiding  both  his  serious  and  the 
best  of  his  comic  poems,  turned  to  the  worst  he  could 
find.  Then  he  read  a  vulgar  rime  about  an  execution, 
and  other  offences  of  the  sort,  pretending  to  be  amused 
largely  sometimes,  making  flat  jokes  of  his  own,  and 
elaborately  explaining  where  was  no  occasion. 

"  Ian ! "  said  his  mother  at  length ;  "  have  you  bid 
farewell  to  senses?" 

"  No,  mother,"  he  answered ;  "  it  is  the  merest  con- 
sequence of  the  way  you  brought  us  up." 

"  I  don't  understand  that ! "  she  returned. 

"  You  always  taught  us  to  do  the  best  we  could  for 
our  visitors.  So,  when  I  fail  to  interest  them,  I  try  to 
amuse  them." 

"  But  you  need  not  make  a  fool  of  yourself ! " 

"It  is  better  to  make  a  fool  of  myself,  than  let  Miss 
Palmer  make  a  fool  of  —  a  great  man !  " 

"  Mr.  Ian,"  said  Christina,  "  it  is  not  of  yourself  but 
of  me  you  have  been  making  a  fool.  —  But  I  deserved 
it ! "  she  added,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Miss  Palmer,"  said  Ian,  "  I  will  drop  my  foolish- 
ness, if  you  will  drop  your  fun." 

"  I  will,"  answered  Christina. 

And  Ian  read  them  the  poem  beginning  — 

Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower. 

Scoffing  at  what  is  beautiful,  is  not  necessarily  a  sign 
of  evil;  it  may  only  indicate  stupidity  or  undevelop- 
ment :  the  beauty  is  not  perceived.  But  blame  is  often 
present  in  prolonged  undevelopment.  Surely  no  one 
habitually  obeying  his  conscience  would  long  be  left 
without  a  visit  from  some  shape  of  the  beautiful ! 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

NATURE. 

THE  girls  had  every  liberty;  their  mother  seldom 
interfered.  Herself  true  to  her  own  dim  horn-lan- 
tern, she  had  confidence  in  the  discretion  of  her  daugh- 
ters, and  looked  for  no  more  than  discretion.  Hence 
an  amount  of  intercourse  was  possible  between  them 
and  the  young  men,  which  must  have  grown  to  a  gen- 
uine intimacy  had  they  inhabited  even  a  neighboring 
sphere  of  conscious  life. 

Almost  unknown  to  herself,  a  change,  however,  for 
the  better  had  begun  in  Mercy.  She  had  not  yet  laid 
hold  of,  had  not  yet  perceived  any  truth ;  but  she  had 
some  sense  of  the  blank  where  truth  ought  to  be.  It 
was  not  a  sense  that  truth  was  lacking;  it  was  only  a 
sense  that  something  was  not  in  her  which  was  in  those 
men.  A  nature  such  as  hers,  one  that  had  not  yet  sinned 
against  the  truth  was  not  one  long  to  frequent  such  a 
warm  atmosphere  of  live  truth,  without  speedy  approach 
to  the  hour  when  it  must  chip  its  shell,  open  its  eyes, 
and  acknowledge  a  world  of  duty  around  it. 

One  lovely  star-lit  night  of  keen  frost,  the  two  moth- 
ers were  sitting  by  a  red  peat-fire  in  the  little  drawing- 
room  of  the  cottage,  and  Ian  was  talking  to  the  girls 
over  some  sketches  he  had  made  in  the  north,  when  the 
chief  came  in,  bringing  with  him  an  air  of  sharp  exhila- 
ration, and  proposed  a  walk. 

"  Come  and  have  a  taste  of  star-light ! "  he  said. 
292 


NATUKE.  293 


The  girls  rose  at  once,  and  were  ready  in  a  minute. 
The  chief  was  walking  between  the  two  ladies,  and  Ian 
was  a  few  steps  in  front,  his  head  bent  as  in  thought. 
Suddenly,  Mercy  saw  him  spread  out  his  arms  toward 
the  starry  vault,  with  his  face  to  its  serrated  edge  of 
mountain-tops.  The  feeling,  almost  the  sense  of  another 
presence  awoke  in  her,  and  as  quickly  vanished.  The 
thought,  Was  he  a  pantheist  ? ,  took  its  place.  Had  she 
not  surprised  him  in  an  act  of  worship  ?  In  that  wide 
outspreading  of  the  lifted  arms,  was  he  not  worshipping 
the  whole,  the  Pan?  Sky  and  stars  and  mountains  and 
sea  were  his  God !  She  walked  aghast,  forgetful  of  a 
hundred  things  she  had  heard  him  say  that  might  have 
settled  the  point.  She  had,  during  the  last  day  or  two, 
been  reading  an  article  in  which  pantheism  was^once 
and  again  referred  to  with  more  horror  than  definite- 
ness.  Recovering  herself  a  little,  she  ventured  ap- 
proach to  the  subject. 

"  Macruadh,"  she  said,  "  Mr.  Ian  and  you  often  say 
things  about  nature  that  I  cannot  understand :  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  it." 

"By  what?"  asked  Alister. 

"By  nature"  answered  Mercy.  "I  heard  Mr.  Ian 
say  the  other  night  that  he  did  not  like  Nature  to  take 
liberties  with  him  ;  you  said  she  might  take  what  liber- 
ties with  you  she  pleased ;  then  you  went  on  talking  so 
that  I  could  not  understand  a  word  either  of  you  said ! " 

While  she  spoke,  Ian  had  turned  and  rejoined  them, 
and  they  were  now  walking  in  a  line,  Mercy  between 
the  two  men,  and  Christina  on  lan's  right.  The  broth- 
ers looked  at  each  other :  it  would  be  hard  to  make  her 
understand  just  that  example  !  Something  more  rudi- 
mentary must  prepare  the  way !  Silence  fell  for  a 
moment,  and  then  Ian  said, 


294  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  We  mean  by  nature  every  visitation  of  the  outside 
world  through  our  senses." 

"  More  plainly,  please,  Mr.  Ian !  You  cannot  imagine 
how  stupid  I  feel  when  you  are  talking  your  thinks,  as 
once  I  heard  a  child  call  them." 

"  I  mean  by  nature,  then,  all  that  you  see  and  hear 
and  smell  and  taste  and  feel  of  the  things  round  about 
you." 

"  If  that  be  all  you  mean,  why  should  you  make  it 
seem  so  difficult  ?  " 

"But  that  is  not  all.  We  mean  the  things  them- 
selves only  for  the  sake  of  what  they  say  to  us.  As$ 
our  sense  of  smell  brings  us  news  of  fields  far  off,  so 
those  fields,  or  even  the  smell  only  that  comes  from 
them,  tells  us  of  things,  meanings,  thoughts,  intentions 
beyond  them,  and  embodied  in  them." 

"  And  that  is  why  you  speak  of  Nature  as  a  person?" 
asked  Mercy. 

"Whatever  influences  us  must  be  a  person.  But 
God  is  the  only  real  person,  being  in  himself,  and  with- 
out help  from  anybody;  and  so  we  talk  even  of  the 
world  which  is  but  his  living  garment,  as  if  that  were 
a  person ;  and  we  call  it  she  as  if  it  were  a  woman,  be- 
cause so  many  of  Godjs  loveliest  influences  come  to  us 
through  her.  She  always  seems  to  me  a  beautiful  old 
grandmother." 

"But  there  now!  when  you  talk  of  her  influences, 
and  the  liberties  she  takes,  I  do  not  know  what  you 
mean.  She  seems  to  do  and  be  something  to  you  which 
certainly  she  does  not  and  is  not  to  me.  I  cannot  tell 
what  to  make  of  it.  I  feel  just  as  when  our  music- 
master  was  talking  away  about  thorough  bass :  I  could 
not  get  hold,  head  or  tail,  of  what  the  man  was  after, 
and  we  all  agreed  there  was  no  sense  in  it.  Now  I 


NATTJEE.  295 


begin  to  suspect  that  there  must  have  been  too  much  !  " 

"  There  is  no  fear  of  you ! "  said  Ian  to  himself. 

"My  heart  told  me  the  truth  about  you!"  thought 
Alister  jubilant.  "  Now  we  shall  have  talk  !  " 

"I  think  I  can  let  you  see  into  it,  Miss  Mercy,"  said 
Ian.  "  Imagine  for  a  moment  how  it  would  be  if,  in- 
stead of  having  a  roof  like  '  this  most  excellent  canopy 
the  air,  this  brave  o'erhanging,  this  majestical  roof, 
fretted  with  golden  fire,' " 

"  Are  you  making  the  words,  or  saying  them  out  of  a 
book  ?  "  interrupted  Mercy. 

"  Ah !  you  don't  know  Hamlet  ?  How  rich  I  should 
feel  myself  if  I  had  the  first  reading  of  it  before  me 
like  you !  —  But  imagine  how  different  it  would  have 
been  if,  instead  of  such  a  roof,  we  had  only  clouds, 
hanging  always  down,  like  the  flies  in  a  theatre,  within 
a  yard  or  two  of  our  heads ! " 

Mercy  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  said, 

"  It  would  be  horribly  wearisome." 

"  It  would  indeed  be  wearisome !  But  how  do  you 
think  it  would  affect  your  nature,  your  being  ?  " 

Mercy  held  the  peace  which  is  the  ignorant  man's 
wisdom. 

"We  should  have  known  nothing  of  astronomy," 
said  Christina. 

"  True ;  and  the  worst  would  have  been,  that  the 
soul  would  have  had  no  astronomy  —  no  notion  of 
heavenly  things." 

"  There  you  leave  me  out  again !  "  said  Mercy. 

"I  mean,"  said  Ian,  "that  it  would  have  had  no 
sense  of  outstretching,  endless  space,  no  feeling  of 
heights  above,  and  depths  beneath.  The  idea  of  space 
would  not  have  come  awake  in  it." 

"  I  understand ! "  said  Christina.     "  But  I  do  not  see 


296  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

that  we  should  have  been  much  the  worse  off.  Why 
should  we  have  the  idea  of  more  than  we  want?  So 
long  as  we  have  room  I  do  not  see  what  space  matters 
to  us!" 

"Ah,  but  when  the  soul  wakes  up,  it  needs  all  space 
for  room !  A  limit  of  thousands  of  worlds  will  not  con- 
tent it.  Mere  elbow-room  will  not  do  when  the  soul 
wakes  up ! " 

"  Then  my  soul  is  not  waked  up  yet ! "  rejoined  Chris- 
tina with  a  laugh. 

Ian  did  not  reply,  and  Christina  felt  that  he  accepted 
the  proposition,  absurd  as  it  seemed  to  herself. 

"But  there  is  far  more  than  that,"  he  resumed. 
"What  notion  could  you  have  had  of  majesty,  if  the 
heavens  seemed  scarce  higher  than  the  earth  ?  what 
feeling  of  the  grandeur  of  him  we  call  God,  of  his  illim- 
itation  in  goodness  ?  For  space  is  the  body  to  the  idea 
of  liberty.  Liberty  is  —  God  and  the  souls  that  love  ; 
these  are  the  limitless,  room  the  space,  in  which 
thoughts,  the  souls  of  things,  have  their  being.  If  there 
were  no  holy  mind,  then  no  freedom,  no  spiritual  space, 
therefore  no  thoughts ;  just  as,  if  there  were  no  space, 
there  could  be  no  things." 

Ian  saw  that  not  even  Alister  was  following  him,  and 
changed  his  key. 

"  Look  up,"  he  said,  "  and  tell  me  what  you  see. — 
What  is  the  shape  over  us?" 

"  It  is  a  vault,"  replied  Christina. 

"  A  dome  —  is  it  not  ?  "  said  Mercy. 

"  Yes ;  a  vault  or  a  dome,  recognizable  at  the  mo- 
ment mainly  by  its  shining  points.  This  dome  we  un- 
derstand to  be  the  complement  or  completing  part  of  a 
corresponding  dome  on  the  other  side  of  the  world.  It 
follows  that  we  are  in  the  heart  of  a  hollow  sphere  of 


NATURE.  297 


loveliest  blue,  spangled  with  light.  Now  the  sphere  is 
the  one  perfect  geometrical  form.  Over  and  round  us 
then  we  have  the  one  perfect  shape.  I  do  not  say  it  is 
put  there  for  the  purpose  of  representing  God  ;  I  say  it 
is  there  of  necessity  because  of  its  nature,  and  its  nature 
is  its  relation  to  God.  It  is  of  God's  thinking ;  and 
that  half  sphere  above  men's  heads,  with  influence  end- 
lessly beyond  the  reach  of  their  consciousness,  is  the 
beginning  of  all  revelation  of  him  to  men.  They  must 
begin  with  that.  It  is  the  simplest  as  well  as  most  ex- 
ternal likeness  of  him,  while  its  relation  to  him  goes  so 
deep  that  it  represents  things  in  his  very  nature  that 
nothing  else  could." 

"You  bewilder  me,"  said  Mercy.  "  I  cannot  follow 
you.  I  am  not  fit  for  such  high  things !  " 

"I  will  go  on;  you  will  soon  begin  to  see  what  I 
mean.  I  know  what  you  are  fit  for  better  than  you  do 
yourself,  Miss  Mercy. —  Think  then  how  it  would  be  if 
this  blue  sky  were  plainly  a  solid.  Men  of  old  believed 
it  a  succession  of  hollow  spheres,  one  outside  the  other ; 
it  is  hardly  a  wonder  they  should  have  had  little  gods. 
No  matter  how  high  the  vault  of  the  inclosing  sphere ; 
limited  at  all  it  could  not  declare  the  glory  of  God,  it 
could  only  show  his  handiwork.  In  our  day  it  is  a 
sphere  only  to  the  eyes ;  it  is  a  foreshortening  of  infini- 
tude that  it  may  enter  our  sight ;  there  is  no  imagining 
of  a  limit  to  it ;  it  is  a  sphere  only  in  this,  that  in  no 
one  direction  can  we  come  nearer  to  its  circumference 
than  in  another.  This  infinite  sphere,  I  say  then,  or,  if 
you  like  it  better,  this  spheric  infinitude,  is  the  only  fig- 
ure, image,  emblem,  symbol,  fit  to  begin  us  to  know 
God ;  it  is  an  idea  incomprehensible ;  we  can  only  be- 
lieve in  it.  In  like  manner  God  cannot  by  searching 
be  found  out,  cannot  be  grasped  by  any  mind,  yet  is 


298  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

ever  before  us,  the  one  we  can  best  know,  the  one  we 
must  know,  the  one  we  cannot  help  knowing ;  for  his 
end  in  giving  us  being  is  that  his  humblest  creature 
should  at  length  possess  himself,  and  be  possessed  by 
him." 

"  I  think  I  begin,"  said  Mercy,  —  and  said  no  more. 

*'  If  it  were  not  for  the  outside  world,"  resumed  Ian, 
"  we  should  have  no  inside  world  to  understand  things 
by.  Least  of  all  could  we  understand  God  without 
these  millions  of  sights  and  sounds  and  scents  and  mo- 
tions, weaving  their  endless  harmonies.  They  come  out 
from  his  heart  to  let  us  know  a  little  of  what  is  in  it ! " 

Alister  had  been  listening  hard.  He  could  not  origi- 
nate such  things,  but  he  could  understand  them ;  and 
his  delight  in  them  proved  them  his  own,  although 
his  brother  had  sunk  the  shaft  that  laid  open  their  lode. 

"  I  never  heard  you  put  a  thing  better,  Ian !  "  he 
said. 

"  You  gentlemen,"  said  Mercy,  "  seem  to  have  a 
place  to  think  in.  that  I  don't  know  how  to  get  into ! 
Could  you  not  open  your  church-door  a  little  wider  to 
let  me  in  ?  There  must  be  room  for  more  than  two ! " 

She  was  looking  up  at  Alister,  not  so  much  afraid  of 
him ;  Ian  was  to  her  hardly  of  this  world.  In  her  eyes 
Alister  saw  something  that  seemed  to  reflect  the  star- 
light ;  but  it  might  have  been  a  luminous  haze  about 
the  waking  stars  of  her  soul ! 

"  My  brother  has  always  been  janitor  to  me,"  replied 
Alister  ;  "I  do  not  know  how  to  open  any  door.  But 
here  no  doors  need  to  be  opened  ;  you  have  just  to  step 
straight  into  the  temple  of  nature,  among  all  the  good 
people  there  worshipping." 

"  There !  that  is  what  I  was  afraid  of !  "  cried  Mercy. 
"  You  are  pantheists  !  " 


NATUBE.  299 


"  Bless  my  soul,  Mercy  !  "  exclaimed  Christina  ; 
"  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ian.  "  If  to  believe  that  not  a  lily 
can  grow,  not  a  sparrow  fall  to  the  ground  without  our 
Father,  be  pantheism,  Alister  and  I  are  pantheists.  If 
by  pantheism  you  mean  anything  that  would  not  fit 
with  that,  we  are  not  pantheists." 

"  Why  should  we  trouble  about  religion  more  than  is 
required  of  us  !  "  interposed  Christina. 

"Why  indeed?"  returned  Ian.  "But  then  how 
much  is  required  ?  " 

"You  require  far  more  than  my  father,  and  he  is 
good  enough  for  me  ! " 

"  The  Master  says  we  are  to  love  God  with  all  our 
hearts  and  souls  and  strength  and  mind." 

"  That  was  in  the  old  law,  Ian,"  said  Alister. 

"You-  are  right.  Jesus  only  justified  it  —  and  did 
it." 

"  How  then  can  you  worship  in  the  temple  of  Na- 
ture ?  "  said  Mercy. 

"  Just  as  he  did.  It  is  Nature's  temple,  mind,  for  the 
worship  of  God,  not  of  herself  ! " 

"How  then  am  I  to  get  into  it?  That  is  what  I 
want  to  know." 

"  The  innermost  places  of  the  temple  are  open  only 
to  such  as  already  worship  in  a  greater  temple ;  but  it 
has  courts  into  which  any  honest  soul  may  enter." 

"  You  wouldn't  set  me  to  study  Wordsworth  ?  " 

"  By  no  means." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.  There  must  be  something  in 
him  more  than  I  see,  or  you  couldn't  care  so  much  for 
him ! " 

"  You  must  learn  some  of  her  lessons  first  before  you 
can  understand  them." 


300  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Could  you  call  it  learning  a  lesson  if  you  did  not 
understand  it?" 

"  Yes  —  to  a  certain  extent.  Did  you  learn  at  school 
to  work  the  rule  of  three  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  was  rather  fond  of  it." 

"  Did  you  understand  it  ?" 

"  I  could  work  sums  in  it." 

"  Did  you  see  how  it  was  that  setting  the  terms  down 
so,  and  working  out  the  rule,,  must  give  you  a  true 
answer?  Did  you  perceive  that  it  was  safe  to  buy  or 
sell,  to  build  a  house,  or  lay  out  a  garden,  by  the  rule 
of  three  ?  " 

"I  did  not.     I  do  not  yet." 

"  Then  one  may  so  far  learn  a  lesson  without  under- 
standing it !  All  do,  more  or  less,  in  Dame  Nature's 
school.  Not  a  few  lessons  must  be  *so  learned  in  order 
to  be  better  learned.  Without  being  so  learned  first  it 
is  not  possible  to  understand  them;  the  scholar  has 
not  facts  enough  about  the  things  to  understand  them. 
Keats's  youthful  delight  in  Nature  was  more  intense 
even  than  Wordsworth's,  but  he  was  only  beginning 
to  understand  her  when  he  died.  Shelley  was  much 
nearer  understanding  her  than  Keats,  but  he  was 
drowned  before  he  did  understand  her.  Wordsworth 
was  far  before  either  of  them.  At  the  same  time,  pre- 
sumptuous as  it  may  appear,  I  believe  there  are  vast 
regions  to  be  traversed,  beyond  any  point  to  which 
Wordsworth  leads  us." 

"  But  how  am  I  to  begin  ?  Do  tell  me.  Nothing 
you  say  helps  me  in  the  least." 

"1  have  all  the  time  been  leading  you  towards  the 
door  at  which  you  want  to  go  in.  It  is  not  likely,  how- 
ever, that  it  will  open  to  you  at  once.  I  doubt  if  it 
will  open  to  you  at  all  except  through  sorrow." 


NATURE.  301 


"  You  are  a  most  encouraging  master  !  "  said  Chris- 
tina, with  a  light  laugh. 

"  It  was  Wordsworth's  bitter  disappointment  in  the 
outcome  of  the  French  Revolution,"  continued  Ian, 
"  that  opened  the  door  to  him.  Yet  he  had  gone 
through  the  outer  courts  of  the  temple  with  more  un- 
derstanding than  any  who  immediately  preceded  him. 
Will  you  let  me  ask  you  a  question  ? " 

"  You  frighten  me !  "  said  Mercy. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that.  We  will  talk  of  something 
else." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  what  you  may  ask  me ;  I  am 
frightened  at  what  you  tell  me.  I  fear  to  go  on  if  I 
must  meet  Sorrow  on  the  way !  " 

"  You  make  one  think  of  some  terrible  secret  society ! " 
said  Christina. 

"  Tell  me  then,  Miss  Mercy,  is  there  anything  you 
love  very  much  ?  I  don't  say  any  person,  but  any 
thing." 

"  I  love  some  animals." 

"An  animal  is  not  a  thing.  It  is  possible  to  love 
animals  and  not  the  nature  of  which  we  are  speaking. 
You  might  love  a  dog  dearly,  and  never  care  to  see  the 
sun  rise  !  Tell  me,  did  any  flower  ever  make  you  cry?" 

"  No,"  answered  Mercy  with  a  puzzled  laugh ;  "  how 
could  it?" 

"  Did  any  flower  ever  make  you  a  moment  later  in 
going  to  bed,  or  a  moment  earlier  in  getting  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  No,  certainly  !  " 

"  In  that  direction,  then,  I  am  foiled !  " 

"  You  would  not  really  have  me  cry  over  a  flower, 
Mr.  Ian?  Did  ever  a  flower  make  you  cry  yourself? 
Of  course  not!  it  is  only  silly  women  that  cry  for 
nothing ! " 


302  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  I  would  rather  not  bring  myself  in  at  present," 
answered  Ian  smiling.  "  Do  you  know  how  Chaucer 
felt  about  flowers  ?  " 

"  I  never  read  a  word  of  Chaucer." 

"  Shall  I  give  you  an  instance  ?  " 

"Please." 

"  Chaucer  was  a  man  of  the  world,  a  courtier,  more 
or  less  a  man  of  affairs,  employed  by  Edward  III.  in 
foreign  business  of  state :  you  cannot  mistake  him  for 
an  effeminate  or  sentimental  man!  He  does  not  any- 
where, so  far  as  I  remember,  say  that  ever  he  cried 
over  a  flower,  but  he  shows  a  delight  in  some  flowers 
so  delicate  and  deep  that  it  must  have  a  source  pro- 
founder  than  that  of  most  people's  tears.  When  we 
go  back  I  will  read  you  what  he  says  about  the  daisy ; 
but  one  more  general  passage  I  think  I  could  repeat. 
There  are  animals  in  it  too  !  " 

"  Do  let  us  hear  it,"  said  Mercy. 

He  spoke  the  following  stanzas  —  not  quite  correctly, 
but  supplying  for  the  moment's  need  where  he  could 
not  recall : 

A  gardein  saw  I,  full  of  blosomed  bowis, 
Upon  a  river,  in  a  grene  mede, 
.There  as  sweetnesse  evermore  inough  is, 
With  fioures  white,  blewe,  yelowe,  and  rede, 
And  cold  welle  streams,  nothing  dede, 
That  swommen  full  of  smale  fishes  light, 
With  finnes  rede,  and  scales  silver  bright. 


On  every  bough  the  birdes  heard  I  sing, 

With  voice  of  angell,  in  hir  armonie, 

That  busied  hem,  hir  birdes  forth  to  bring, 

The  little  pretty  conies  to  hir  play  gan  hie, 

And  further  all  about  I  gan  espie, 

The  dredeful  roe,  the  buck,  the  hart,  and  hind, 

Squirrels,  and  beastes  small,  of  gentle  kind. 


NATURE.  303 


Of  instruments  of  stringes  in  accorde, 
Heard  I  so  play,  a  ravishing  swetnesse, 
That  God,  that  maker  is  of  all  and  Lorde, 
Ne  heard  never  better,  as  I  gesse, 
Therwith  a  wind,  unneth  it  might  be  lesse, 
Made  in  the  leaves  grene  a  noise  soft, 
Accordant  to  the  foules  song  on  loft. 

The  aire  of  the  place  so  attempre  was, 
That  never  was  ther  grevance  of  hot  ne  cold, 
There  was  eke  every  noisome  spice  and  gras, 
Ne  no  man  may  there  waxe  sicke  ne  old, 
Yet  was  there  more  joy  o  thousand  fold, 
Than  I  can  tell  or  ever  could  or  might, 
There  is  ever  clere  day,  and  never  night. 

He  modernized  it  also  a  little  in  repeating  it,  so  that 
his  hearers  missed  nothing  through  failing  to  understand 
the  words :  how  much  they  gained,  it  were  hard  to 
say. 

"  It  reminds  one,"  commented  Ian,  "  of  Dante's  par- 
adise on  the  top  of  the  hill  of  purgatory." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  Dante  either,"  said 
Mercy  regretfully. 

"  There  is  plenty  of  time  !  "  said  Ian. 

"  But  there  is  so  much  to  learn  !  "  returned  Mercy  in 
a  hopeless  tone. 

"  That  is  the  joy  of  existence  !  "  Ian  replied.  "  We 
are  not  bound  to  know  ;  we  are  only  bound  to  learn. — 
But  to  return  to  my  task :  a  man  may  really  love  a 
flower.  In  another  poem  Chaucer  tells  us  that  such  is 
his  delight  in  his  books  that  no  other  pleasure  can  take 
him  from  them  — 

Save  certainty,  when  that  the  month  of  May 
Is  coinen,  and  that  I  heare  the  foules  sing, 
And  that  the  fioures  ginnen  for  to  spring, 
Farwell  my  booke,  and  my  devotion. 

Poor  people  love  flowers  ;  rich  people  admire  them." 


304  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  But,"  said  Mercy,  "  how  can  one  love  a  thing  that 
has  no  life?" 

Ian  could  have  told  her  that  whatever  grows  must 
live  ;  he  could  further  have  told  her  his  belief  that  life 
cannot  be  without  its  measure  of  consciousness  ;  but  it 
would  have  led  to  more  difficulty,  and  away  from  the 
end  he  had  in  view.  He  felt  also  that  no  imaginable 
degree  of  consciousness  in  it  was  commensurate  with 
the  love  he  had  himself  for  almost  any  flower.  His 
answer  to  Mercy's  question  was  this  :  — 

"  A  flower  comes  from  the  same  heart  as  man  him- 
self, and  is  sent  to  be  his  companion  and  minister. 
There  is  something  divinely  magical,  because  pro- 
foundly human  in  them.  In  some  at  least  the  human 
is  plain ;  we  see  a  face  of  childlike  peace  and  confidence 
that  appeals  to  our  best.  Our  feeling  for  many  of  them 
doubtless  owes  something  to  childish  associations ;  but 
how  did  they  get  their  hold  of  our  childhood  ?  Why 
did  they  enter  our  souls  at  all?  They  are  joyous,  in- 
articulate children,  come  with  vague  messages  from  the 
father  of  all.  If  I  confess  that  what  they  say  to  me 
sometimes  makes  me  weep,  how  can  I  call  my  feeling 
for  them  anything  but  love?  The  eternal  thing  may 
have  a  thousand  forms  of  which  we  know  nothing 
yet!" 

Mercy  felt  Ian  must  mean  something  she  ought  to 
like,  if  only  she  knew  what  it  was ;  but  he  had  not 
yet  told  her  anything  to  help  her!  He  had,  how- 
ever, neither  reached  his  end  nor  lost  his  way ;  he  was 
leading  her  on  —  gently  and  naturally. 

"  I  did  not  mean,"  he  resumed,  "  that  you  must  of 
necessity  begin  with  the  flowers.  I  was  only  enquiring 
whether  at  that  point  you  were  nearer  to  Nature.  Tell 
me  —  were  you  ever  alone  ?  " 


NATURE.  305 


"Alone!"  repeated  Mercy,  thinking.  "  —  Surely 
everybody  has  been  many  times  alone !  " 

"  Could  you  tell  when  last  you  were  alone  ?  " 

She  thought,  but  could  not  tell. 

"  What  I  want  to  ask  you,"  said  Ian,  "  is  —  did  you 
ever  feel  alone  ?  Did  you  ever  for  a  moment  inhabit 
loneliness  ?  Did  it  ever  press  itself  upon  you  that  there 
was  nobody  near  —  that  if  you  called  nobody  would 
hear  ?  You  are  not  alone,  while  you  know  that  you  can 
have  a  fellow  creature  with  you  the  instant  you  choose." 

"  I  hardly  think  I  have  ever  been  alone  in  that  way." 

"  Then  what  I  would  have  you  do,"  continued  Ian, 
"is  —  to  make  yourself  alone  in  one  of  Nature's  with- 
dra wing-rooms,  and  seat  yourself  in  one  of  Grannie's 
own  chairs.  I  am  coming  to  the  point  at  last !  —  Upon 
a  day  when  the  weather  is  fine,  go  out  by  yourself. 
Tell  no  one  where  you  are  going,  or  that  you  are  going 
anywhere.  Climb  a  hill.  If  you  cannot  get  to  the  top 
of  it,  go  high  on  the  side  of  it.  No  book,  mind  !  noth- 
ing to  fill  your  thinking-place  from  another's !  People 
are  always  saying  '  I  think,'  when  they  are  not  thinking 
at  all,  when  they  are  at  best  only  passing  the  thoughts 
of  others  whom  they  do  not  even  know. 

"  When  you  have  got  quite  alone,  when  you  do  not 
even  know  the  nearest  point  to  anybody,  sit  down  and 
be  lonely.  Look  out  on  the  loneliness,  the  wide  world 
round  you,  and  the  great  vault  over  you,  with  the 
lonely  sun  in  the  middle  of  it ;  fold  your  hands  in  your 
lap,  and  be  still.  Do  not  try  to  think  anything.  Do 
not  try  to  call  up  any  feeling  or  sentiment  or  sensation  ; 
just  be  still.  By  and  by,  it  may  be,  you  will  begin  to 
know  something  of  Nature.  I  do  not  know  you  well 
enough  to  be  sure  about  it ;  but  if  you  tell  me  after- 
wards how  you  fared,  I  shall  then  know  you  a  little 


306  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MIKE. 

better,  and  perhaps  be  able  to  tell  you  whether  Nature 
will  soon  speak  to  you,  or  not  until  as  Henry  Vaughan 
says,  some  veil  be  broken  in  you." 

They  were  approaching  the  cottage,  and  little  more 
was  said.  They  found  Mrs.  Palmer  prepared  to  go, 
and  Mercy  was  not  sorry :  she  had  had  enough  for  a 
while.  She  was  troubled  at  the  thought  that  perhaps 
she  was  helplessly  shut  out  from  the  life  inhabited  by 
the  brothers.  When  she  lay  down,  her  own  life  seemed 
dull  and  poor.  These  men,  with  all  their  kindness, 
respect,  attention,  and  even  attendance  upon  them,  did 
not  show  them  the  homage  which  the  men  of  their  own 
circle  paid  them ! 

"  They  will  never  miss  us ! "  she  said  to  herself. 
"  They  will  go  on  with  their  pantheism,  or  whatever  it 
is,  all  the  same !  " 

But  they  should  not  say  she  was  one  of  those  who 
talk  but  will  not  do !  That  scorn  she  could  not  bear ! 

All  the  time,  however,  the  thing  seemed  to  savor 
more  of  spell  or  cast  of  magic  than  philosophy :  the 
means  enjoined  were  suggestive  of  a  silent  incantation ! 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

GKANNY  ANGRY. 

IT  must  not  be  supposed  that  all  the  visiting  was  on 
the  part  of  those  of  the  New  House.  The  visits 
thence  were  returned  by  both  matron  and  men.  But 
somehow  there  was  never  the  same  freedom  in  the  house 
as  in  the  cottage.  The  difference  did  not  lie  in  the 
presence  of  the  younger  girls  :  they  were  well  behaved, 
friendly,  and  nowise  disagreeable  children.  Doubtless 
there  was  something  in  the  absence  of  books :  it  was  of 
no  use  to  jump  up  when  a  passage  occurred  ;  help  was 
not  at  hand.  But  it  was  more  the  air  of  the  place,  the 
presence  of  so  many  common-place  things,  that  clogged 
the  wheels  of  thought.  Neither,  with  all  her  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  and  all  her  sweetness,  did  Mrs. 
Palmer  understand  the  essentials  of  hospitality  half  so 
well  as  the  widow  of  the  late  minister-chief.  All  of 
them  liked,  and  confessed  that  they  liked,  the  cottage 
best.  Even  Christina  felt  something  lacking  in  their 
reception,  and  regretted  that  the  house  was  not  grand 
enough  to  show  what  they  were  accustomed  to. 

Mrs.  Palmer  seldom  understood  the  talk,  and  though 
she  sat  looking  persistently  pleased,  was  always  haunted 
with  a  dim  feeling  that  her  husband  would  not  be  best 
pleased  at  so  much  intercourse  between  his  rich  daugh- 
ters and  those  penniless  country  fellows.  But  what 
could  she  do  !  the  place  where  he  had  abandoned  them 
was  so  dull,  so  solitary  1  The  girls  must  not  mope ! 
307 


308  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

Christina  would  wither  up  without  amusement,  and  then 
good-by  to  her  beauty  and  all  that  depended  upon  it  1 
In  the  suavity  of  her  motherhood,  she  more  than  liked  the 
young  men:  happy  mother  she  would  think  herself, 
were  her  daughters  to  marry  such  men  as  these.  The 
relations  between  them  and  their  mother  delighted  her: 
they  were  one  !  their  hearts  were  together !  they  under- 
stood each  other !  She  could  never  have  such  bliss 
with  her  sons !  Never  since  she  gave  them  birth  had 
she  had  one  such  look  from  either  of  hers  as  she  saw 
pass  every  now  and  then  from  these  to  their  mother ! 
It  would  be  like  being  born  again  to  feel  herself 
loved  in  that  way!  For  any  danger  to  the  girls,  she 
thought  with  a  sigh  how  soon  in  London  they  would 
forget  the  young  highlanders.  Was  there  no  possibility 
of  securing  one  of  them  ?  What  chance  was  there  of 
Mercy's  marrying  well !  She  was  so  decidedly  plain  ! 
Was  the  idea  of  marrying  her  into  an  old  and  once 
powerful  family  like  that  of  the  Macruadh,  to  her  hus- 
band inconceivable  ?  Could  he  not  restore  its  property 
as  the  dowry  of  his  second  daughter !  It  would  be  to 
him  but  a  trifle !  —  and  he  could  stipulate  that  the  chief 
should  acknowledge  the  baronetcy  and  use  his  title ! 
Mercy  would  then  be  a  woman  of  consequence,  and 
Peregrine  would  have  the  Bible-honor  of  being  the  re- 
pairer of  the  breach,  the  restorer  of  paths  to  dwell  in !  — 
Such  were  some  of  the  thoughts  that  would  come  and 
go  in  the  brain  of  the  mother  as  she  sat ;  nor  were  they 
without  a  share  in  her  readiness  to  allow  her  daughters 
to  go  out  with  the  young  men :  she  had  an  unquestion- 
ing conviction  of  their  safety  with  them. 

The  days  went  by,  and  wrhat  to  Christina  had  seemed 
imprisonment,  began  to  look  like  some  sort  of  liberty. 
She  had  scarce  come  nearer  to  sympathy  with  those 


ANGRY.  309 


whose  society  consoled  her,  but  their  talk  had  ceased 
to  sound  repulsive.  She  was  hardly  a  growing  plant 
—  was  but  like  a  well-modelled  wax-flower.  More  was 
needed  to  wake  her  than  friends  awake.  It  is  wonder- 
ful how  long  the  sleeping  may  go  with  the  waking,  and 
not  discover  any  difference  between  them.  But  Gran- 
ny Nature  was  about  to  interfere. 

The  spring  drew  gently  on.  It  would  be  long  ere 
summer  was  summer  enough  to  show.  There  seemed 
more  of  the  destructive  in  the  spring  itself  than  of 
the  genial  —  cold  winds,  great  showers,  days  of  steady 
rain,  sudden  assaults  of  hail  and  sleet.  Still  it  was 
spring  and  at  length,  one  fine  day  with  a  bright  sun, 
snow  on  the  hills,  and  clouds  in  the  east,  but  no  sign 
of  any  sudden  change,  the  girls  went  out  for  a  walk,  and 
took  the  younger  girls  with  them. 

A  little  way  up  the  valley,  out  of  sight  of  the  cottage, 
a  small  burn  came  down  its  own  dell  to  join  that  which 
flowed  through  the  chief's  farm.  Its  channel  was  wide, 
but  except  in  time  of  rain  had  little  water  in  it.  About 
half  a  mile  up  its  course  it  divided,  or  rather  the  chan- 
nel did,  for  in  one  of  its  branches  there  was  seldom  any 
water.  At  the  fork  was  a  low  rocky  mound  with  an 
ancient  ruin  of  no  great  size  —  three  or  four  fragments 
of  thick  walls,  within  whose  plan  grew  a  slender  birch- 
tree.  Thither  went  the  little  party,  wandering  up  the 
stream  :  the  valley  was  sheltered  ;  no  wind  but  the 
south  could  reach  it  ;  and  the  sun,  though  it  could  not 
make  it  very  warm,  as  it  looked  only  aslant  on  its  slopes, 
yet  lighted  both  sides  of  it.  Great  white  clouds  passed 
slowly  across  the  sky,  with  now  and  then  a  nearer  black 
one  threatening  rain,  but  a  wind  overhead  was  carrying 
them  quickly  over. 

Ian  had  seen  the  ladies  pass,  but  made  no  effort  to 


310  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

overtake  them,  although  he  was  bound  in  the  same 
ejection :  at  the  moment  he  preferred  the  society  of 
his  book.  Suddenly  his  attention  was  roused  by  a 
peculiar  whistle,  which  he  knew  for  that  of  Hector  of 
the  Stags  :  it  was  one  of  the  few  sounds  he  could  make. 
Three  times  it  was  hurriedly  repeated,  and  ere  the  third 
was  over,  Ian  had  discovered  Hector  high  on  a  hill  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  burn,  waving  his  arms,  and  mak- 
ing eager  signs  to  him.  He  stopped  and  set  himself  to 
understand.  Hector  was  pointing  with  energy,  but  it 
was  impossible  to  determine  the  exact  direction  :  all 
that  Ian  could  gather  was,  that  his  presence  was  wanted 
somewhere  farther  on.  He  resumed  his  walk  therefore' 
at  a  rapid  pace,  whereupon  Hector  pointed  higher. 
There  on  the  eastern  horizon,  towards  the  north,  almost 
down  upon  the  hills,  Ian  saw  a  congeries  of  clouds  in 
strangest  commotion,  such  as  he  had  never  before  seen  in 
any  home  latitude  —  a  mass  of  darkly  variegated  vapors 
manifesting  a  peculiar  and  appalling  unrest.  It  seemed 
tormented  by  a  gyrating  storm,  twisting  and  contorting 
it  with  unceasing  change.  Now  the  gray  came  writh- 
ing out,  now  the  black  came  bulging  through,  now  a 
dirty  brown  smeared  the  ashy  white,  and  now  the  blue 
shone  calmly  out  from  eternal  distance.  At  the  season 
he  could  hardly  think  it  a  thunder-storm,  and  stood  ab- 
sorbed in  the  unusual  phenomenon.  But  again,  louder 
and  more  hurried,  came  the  whistling,  and  again  he 
saw  Hector  gesticulating,  more  wildly  than  before. 
Then  he  knew  that  some  one  must  be  in  want  of  help 
or  succor,  and  set  off  running  as  hard  as  he  could :  he 
saw  Hector  keeping  him  in  sight,  and  watching  to  give 
him  further  direction  :  perhaps  the  ladies  had  got  into 
some  difficulty ! 
When  he  arrived  at  the  opening  of  the  valley  just 


GRANNY   ANGRY.  311 


mentioned,  Hector's  gesticulations  made  it  quite  plain 
it  was  up  there  he  must  go ;  and  as  soon  as  he  entered 
it,  he  saw  that  the  cloudy  turmoil  was  among  the  hills 
at  its  head.  With  that  he  began  to  suspect  the  danger 
the  hunter  feared,  and  almost  the  same  instant  heard 
the  merry  voices  of  the  children.  Running  yet  faster, 
he  came  in  sight  of  them  on  the  other  side  of  the 
stream,  —  not  a  moment  too  soon.  The  valley  was  full 
of  a  dull  roaring  sound.  He  called  to  them  as  he  ran, 
and  the  children  saw  him  and  came  running  down  the 
bank,  followed  by  Mercy.  She  was  not  looking  much 
concerned,  for  she  thought  it  only  the  grumbling  of 
distant  thunder.  But  Ian  saw,  far  up  the  valley,  what 
looked  like  a  low  brown  wall  across  it,  and  knew  what 
it  was. 

"  Mercy ! "  he  cried,  "  run  up  the  side  of  the  hill  di- 
rectly ;  you  will  be  drowned  —  swept  away  if  you 
don't." 

She  looked  incredulous,  and  glanced  up  the  hill-side, 
but  came  on  as  if  to  cross  the  burn  and  join  him. 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you,"  he  cried,  in  a  tone  which  few 
would  have  ventured  to  disregard,  and  turning  darted 
across  the  channel  towards  them. 

Mercy  did  not  wait  his  coming,  but  took  the  children, 
each  by  a  hand,  and  went  a  little  way  up  the  hill  that 
immediately  bordered  the  stream. 

"  Farther !  farther !  "  cried  Ian  as  he  ran.  "  Where 
is  Christina?" 

"  At  the  ruin,"  she  answered. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Ian,  and  darted  off,  cry- 
ing, "  Up  the  hill  with  you  !  Up  the  hill !  " 

Christina  was  standing  by  the  birch-tree  in  the  ruin, 
looking  down  the  burn.  She  had  heard  Ian  calling, 
and  saw  him  running,  but  suspected  no  danger. 


312  WHAT'S  MINE'S 


"  Come  ;  come  directly  ;  for  God's  sake,  come  !  "  he 
cried.  "  Look  up  the  burn  !  "  he  added,  seeing  her  hes- 
itate bewildered. 

She  turned,  looked,  and  came  running  to  him,  down 
the  channel,  white  with  terror.  It  was  almost  too  late. 
The  charging  water,  whose  front  rank  was  turf,  and 
bushes,  and  stones,  was  upon  her.  The  solid  matter 
had  retarded  its  rush,  but  it  was  now  on  the  point  of 
dividing  against  the  rocky  mound,  to  sweep  along  both 
sides,  and  turn  it  into  an  island.  Ian  bounded  to  her  in 
the  middle  of  the  channel,  caught  her  by  the  arm,  and 
hurried  her  back  to  the  mound  as  fast  as  they  could 
run  :  it  was  the  highest  ground  immediately  accessible. 
As  they  reached  it,  the  water  broke  with  a  roar  against 
its  rocky  base,  rose,  swelled  —  and  in  a  moment  the 
island  was  covered  with  a  brown,  seething,  swirling 
flood. 

"  Where's  Mercy  and  the  children?"  gasped  Chris- 
tina, as  the  water  caught  her. 

"  Safe,  safe  !  "  answered  Ian.  "We  must  get  to  the 
ruin  !  " 

The  water  was  halfway  up  his  leg,  and  rising  fast. 
Their  danger  was  but  beginning.  Would  the  old  walls, 
in  greater  part  built  without  mortar,  stand  the  rush? 
If  a  tree  should  strike  them,  they  hardly  would  !  If 
the  flood  came  from  a  water-spout,  it  would  soon  be 
over  —  only  how  high  it  might  first  rise,  who  could 
tell  ?  Such  were  his  thoughts  as  they  struggled  to  the 
ruin,  and  stood  up  at  the  end  of  a  wall  parallel  with 
the  current. 

The  water  was  up  to  Christina's  waist,  and  very  cold. 
Here  out  of  the  rush,  however,  she  recovered  her  breath 
in  a  measure,  and  showed  not  a  little  courage.  Ian 
stood  between  her  and  the  wall,  and  held  her  fast.  The 


GRANNY    ANGKY.  313 


torrent  came  round  the  end  of  the  wall  from  both  sides, 
but  the  encounter  and  eddy  of  the  two  currents  rather 
pushed  them  up  against  it.  Without  it  they  could  not 
have  stood. 

The  chief  danger  to  Christina,  however,  was  from 
the  cold.  With  the  water  so  high  on  her  body,  and 
flowing  so  fast,  she  could  not  long  resist  it.  Ian,  there- 
fore, took  her  round  the  knees,  and  lifted  her  almost 
out  of  the  water. 

"  Put  your  arms  up,"  he  said,  "  and  lay  hold  of  the 
wall.  Don't  mind  blinding  me ;  my  eyes  are  of  little 
use  at  present.  There  —  put  your  feet  in  my  hands. 
Don't  be  frightened  ;  I  can  hold  you." 

"  I  can't  help  being  frightened  ?  "  she  panted. 

"  We  are  in  God's  arms,"  returned  Ian.  "  He  is 
holding  us." 

"  Are  you  sure  we  shall  not  be  drowned  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  No  ;  but  I  am  sure  the  water  cannot  take  us  out  of 
God's  arms." 

This  was  not  much  comfort  to  Christina.  She  did 
not  know  anything  about  God  —  did  not  believe  in 
him  any  more  than  most  people.  She  knew  arms  only 
as  the  arms  of  Ian  —  and  they  comforted  her,  for  she 
felt  them ! 

How  many  of  us  actually  believe  in  any  support  we 
do  not  immediately  feel  ?  in  any  arms  we  do  not  see  ? 
But  lan's  help  was  God's  help  ;  and  though  to  believe 
in  Ian  was  not  to  believe  in  God,  it  was  a  step  on  the 
road  towards  believing  in  God.  He  that  belie veth  not 
in  the  good  man  whom  he  hath  seen,  how  shall  he  be- 
lieve in  the  God  whom  he  hath  not  seen  ? 

She  began  to  feel  a  little  better ;  the  ghastly  chok- 
ing at  her  heart  was  almost  gone. 


314  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  I  shall  break  your  arms  !  "  she  said. 

"  You  are  not  very  heavy,"  he  answered ;  "  and 
though  I  am  not  so  strong  as  Alister,  I  am  stronger 
than  most  men.  With  the  help  of  the  wall  I  can  hold 
you  a  long  time. 

How  was  it  that,  now  first  in  danger,  self  came  less 
to  the  front  with  her  than  usual  ?  It  was  that  now  first 
she  was  face  to  face  with  reality.  Until  this  moment 
her  life  had  been  an  affair  of  unrealities.  Her  selfish- 
ness had  thinned,  as  it  were  vaporized,  every  reality 
that  approached  her.  Solidity  is  not  enough  to  teach 
some  natures  reality ;  they  must  hurt  themselves  against 
the  solid  ere  they  realize  its  solidity.  Small  reality, 
small  positivity  of  existence  has  water  to  a  dreaming 
soul,  half  consciously  gazing  through  half  shut  eyes  at 
the  soft  river  floating  away  in  the  moonlight :  Christina 
was  shivering  in  its  grasp  on  her  person,  its  omnipre- 
sence to  her  skin ;  its  cold  made  her  gasp  and  choke ; 
the  push  and  tug  of  it  threatened  to  sweep  her  away 
like  a  whelmed  log !  It  is  when  we  are  most  aware  of 
the  factitude  of  things,  that  we  are  most  aware  of  our 
need  of  God,  and  most  able  to  trust  him ;  when  most 
aware  of  their  presence,  the  soul  finds  it  easiest  to  with- 
draw from  them,  and  seek  its  safety  with  the  maker  of 
it  and  them.  The  recognition  of  inexorable  reality  in 
any  shape,  or  kind,  or  way,  tends  to  rouse  the  soul  to 
the  yet  more  real,  to  its  relations  with  higher  and  deeper 
existence.  It  is  not  the  hysterical  alone  for  whom  the 
great  dash  of  cold  water  is  good.  All  who  dream  life 
instead  of  living  it,  require  some  similar  shock.  Of  the 
kind  is  every  disappointment,  every  reverse,  every 
tragedy  of  life.  The  true  in  even  the  lowest  kind, 
is  of  the  truth,  and  to  be  compelled  to  feel  even  that, 
is  to  be  driven  a  trifle  nearer  to  the  truth  of  being,  of 


GRANNY    ANGRY.  315 


creation,  of  God.  Hence  this  sharp  contact  with  Na- 
ture tended  to  make  Christina  less  selfish  ;  it  made  her 
forget  herself  so  far  as  to  care  for  her  helper  as  well  as 
herself. 

It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  her  selfishness 
was  not  the  cultivated  and  ingrained  selfishness  of  a 
long  life,  but  that  of  an  uneducated,  that  is  undevel- 
oped nature.  Her  being  had  not  degenerated  by  sin- 
ning against  light  known  as  light ;  it  had  not  been  con- 
sciously enlightened  at  all ;  it  had  scarcely  as  yet  begun 
to  grow.  It  was  not  lying  dead,  only  un  a  waked.  I 
would  not  be  understood  to  imply  that  she  was  nowise 
to  blame  —  but  that  she  was  by  no  means  so  much  to 
blame  as  one  who  has  but  suspected  the  presence  of  a 
truth,  and  from  selfishness  or  self-admiration  has  turned 
from  it.  She  was  to  blame  wherever  she  had  not  done 
as  her  conscience  feebly  told  her ;  and  she  had  not 
made  progress  just  because  she  had  neglected  the  little 
things  concerning  which  she  had  promptings.  There 
are  many  who  do  not  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven  just 
because  they  will  not  believe  the  tiny  key  that  is 
handed  them,  fit  to  open  its  hospitable  gate. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Ian,  if  you  should  be  drowned  for  my 
sake  ! "  she  faltered  with  white  lips.  "  You  should  not 
have  come  to  me  !  " 

"  I  would  not  wish  a  better  death,"  said  Ian. 

"  How  can  you  talk  so  coolly  about  it !  "  she  cried. 

"  Well,"  he  returned,  "  what  better  way  of  going  out 
of  the  world  is  there  than  by  the  door  of  help?  No 
man  cares  much  about  what  the  idiots  people  of  the 
world  call  life  !  What  is  it  whether  we  live  in  this 
room  or  another?  The  same  who  sent  us  here,  sends 
for  us  out  of  here  !  " 

"Most  men  care  very  much !    You  are  wrong  there !  " 


316  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  I  don't  call  those  who  do,  men !  They  are  only 
children  !  I  know  many  men  who  would  no  more  cleave 
to  this  life  than  a  butterfly  would  fold  his  wings  and 
creep  into  his  deserted  chrysalis-case.  I  do  care  to  live 
—  tremendously,  but  I  don't  mind  where.  He  who 
made  this  room  so  well  worth  living  in,  surely  may  be 
trusted  with  the  next !  " 

"  I  can't  quite  follow  you,"  stammered  Christina. 
"  I  am  sorry.  Perhaps  it  is  the  cold.  I  can't  feel  my 
hands,  I  am  so  cold." 

"  Leave  the  wall,  and  put  your  arms  round  my  neck. 
The  change  will  rest  me,  and  the  water  is  already 
falling !  It  will  go  as  rapidly  as  it  came  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  It  has  sunk  nearly  a  foot  in  the  last  fifteen  minutes  : 
I  have  been  carefully  watching  it,  you  may  be  sure ! 
It  must  have  been  a  waterspout,  and  however  much 
that  may  bring,  it  pours  it  out  all  at  once." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Christina,  with  a  tremulous  joyf ulness ; 
"  I  thought  it  would  go  on  ever  so  long  !  " 

"  We  shall  get  out  of  it  alive !  —  God's  will  be  done ! " 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  Don't  you  really  mean  we 
are  going  to  be  saved  ?  " 

"Would  you  want  to  live,  if  he  wanted  you  to 
die?" 

"  Oh,  but  you  forget,  Mr.  Ian,  I  am  not  ready  to  die, 
like  you !  "  sobbed  Christina. 

"Do  you  think  anything  could  make  it  better  for 
you  to  stop  here,  after  God  thought  it  better  for  you  to 
go?" 

"  I  dare  not  think  about  it." 

"  Be  sure  God  will  not  take  you  away,  if  it  be  better 
for  you  to  live  here  a  little  longer.  But  you  will  have 
to  go  sometime  ;  and  if  you  contrived  to  live  after  God 


GRANNY   ANGKY.  317 


wanted  you  to  go,  you  would  find  yourself  much  less 
ready  when  the  time  came  that  you  must.  But,  my 
dear  Miss  Palmer,  no  one  can  be  living  a  true  life,  to 
whom  dying  is  a  terror." 

Christina  was  silent.  He  spoke  the  truth  !  She  was 
not  worth  anything !  How  grand  it  was  to  look  death 
in  the  face  with  a  smile ! 

If  she  had  been  no  more  than  the  creature  she  had 
hitherto  shown  herself,  not  all  the  floods  of  the  deluge 
could  have  made  her  think  or  feel  thus  :  her  real  self, 
her  divine  nature  had  begun  to  wake.  True,  that  na- 
ture was  as  yet  no  more  like  the  divine,  than  the  drowsy, 
arm-stretching,  yawning  child  is  like  the  merry  elf  about 
to  spring  from  his  couch,  full  of  life,  of  play,  of  love. 
She  had  no  faith  in  God  yet,  but  it  was  much  that  she 
felt  she  was  not  worth  anything. 

You  are  right :  it  was  odd  to  hold  such  a  conversa- 
tion at  such  a  time  !  But  Ian  was  an  odd  man.  He 
actually  believed  that  God  was  nearer  to  him  than  his 
own  consciousness,  yet  desired  communion  with  him! 
and  that  Jesus  Christ  knew  what  he  said  when  he  told 
his  disciples  that  the  Father  cared  for  his  sparrows. 

Only  one  human  being  witnessed  their  danger,  and 
he  could  give  no  help.  Hector  of  the  Stags  had  crossed 
the  main  valley  above  where  the  torrent  entered  it,  and 
coming  over  the  hill,  saw  with  consternation  the  flood- 
encompassed  pair.  If  there  had  been  help  in  man,  he 
could  have  brought  none  ;  the  raging  torrent  blocked 
the  way  both  to  the  village  and  to  the  chief's  house. 
He  could  only  stand  and  gaze  with  his  heart  in  his  eyes. 

Beyond  the  stream  lay  Mercy  on  the  hill-side,  with 
her  face  in  the  heather.  Frozen  with  dread,  she  dared 
not  look  up.  Had  she  moved  but  ten  yards,  she  would 
have  seen  her  sister  in  lan's  arms. 


318  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

The  children  sat  by  her,  white  as  death,  with  great 
lumps  in  their  throats,  and  the  silent  tears  rolling  down 
their  cheeks.  It  was  the  first  time  death  had  come 
near  them. 

A  sound  of  sweeping  steps  came  through  the  heather. 
They  looked  up  :  there  was  the  chief  striding  towards 
them. 

The  flood  had  come  upon  him  at  work  in  his  fields, 
whelming  his  growing  crops.  He  had  but  time  to  un- 
yoke his  bulls,  and  run  for  his  life.  The  bulls,  not 
quite  equal  to  the  occasion,  were  caught  and  swept 
away.  They  were  found  a  week  after  on  the  hills, 
nothing  the  worse,  and  nearly  as  wild  as  when  first  the 
chief  took  them  in  hand.  The  cottage  was  in  no  dan- 
ger ;  and  Nancy  got  a  horse  and  the  last  of  the  cows 
from  the  farm-yard  on  to  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  against 
which  the  burn  rushed  roaring,  just  as  the  water  began 
to  invade  the  cow-house  and  stable.  The  moment  he 
reached  the  ridge,  the  chief  set  out  to  look  for  his 
brother,  whom  he  knew  to  be  somewhere  up  the  valley  ; 
and  having  climbed  to  get  an  outlook,  saw  Mercy  and 
the  girls,  from  whose  postures  he  dreaded  that  some- 
thing had  befallen  them. 

The  girls  uttered  a  cry  of  welcome,  and  the  chief 
answered,  but  Mercy  did  not  lift  her  head. 

"Mercy,"  said  Alister  softly,  and  kneeling  laid  his 
hand  on  her. 

She  turned  to  him  such  a  face  of  blank  misery  as 
filled  him  with  consternation. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not. 

"  Where  is  Christina  ?  "  he  went  on. 

She  succeeded  in  bringing  out  the  one  word  "ruin." 

"  Is  anybody  with  her  ?  " 


GKANNY   ANGRY.  319 


"Ian." 

"  Oh  !  "  he  returned  cheerily,  as  if  then  all  would  be 
right.  But  a  pang  shot  through  his  heart,  and  it  was 
as  much  for  himself  as  for  Mercy  that  he  went  on : 
"But  God  is  with  them,  Mercy.  If  he  were  not,  it 
would  be  bad  indeed  !  Where  he  is,  all  is  well ! " 

She  sat  up,  and  putting  out  her  hand,  laid  it  in  his 
great  palm. 

"  I  wish  I  could  believe  that ! "  she  said ;  "  but  you 
know  people  are  drowned  sometimes !  " 

"  Yes,  surely !  but  if  God  be  writh  them  what  does 
it  matter !  It  is  not  worse  than  when  a  mother  puts  her 
baby  into  a  big  bath." 

"  It  is  cruel  to  talk  like  that  to  me  when  my  sister  is 
drowning ! " 

She  gave  a  stifled  shriek,  and  threw  herself  again  on 
her  face. 

"Mercy,"  said  the  chief — and  his  voice  trembled  a 
little,  "  you  do  not  love  your  sister  more  than  I  love  my 
brother,  and  if  he  be  drowned  I  shall  weep  ;  but  I  shall 
not  be  miserable  as  if  a  mocking  devil  were  at  the  root 
of  it  and  not  one  who  loves  them  better  than  we  ever 
shall.  But  come;  I  think  we  shall  find  them  somehow 
alive  yet !  Ian  knows  what  to  do  in  an  emergency ;  and 
though  you  might  not  think  it,  he  is  a  very  strong  man. 

She  rose  immediately,  and  taking  like  a  child  the 
hand  he  offered  her,  went  up  the  hirl  with  him. 

The  girls  ran  before  them,  and  presently  gave  a 
scream  of  joy. 

"  I  see  Chrissy !    I  see  Chrissy !  "  cried  one. 

"  Yes !  there  she  is  !  I  see  her  too !  "  cried  the  other. 

Alister  hurried  up  with  Mercy.  There  was  Chris- 
tina !  She  seemed  standing  on  the  water.  Mercy  burst 
into  tears. 


320  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  But  where's  Ian  ?  "  she  said,  when  she  had  recov- 
ered herself  a  little ;  "  I  don't  see  him  !  " 

"  He  is  there  though,  all  right ! "  answered  Alister. 
"Don't  you  see  his  hands  holding  her  out  of  the 
water?" 

And  with  that  he  gave  a  great  shout :  — 

"  Ian  !  Ian !  hold  on,  old  boy !  I'm  coming !  " 

Ian  heard  him,  and  was  filled  with  terror,  but  had 
neither  breath  nor  strength  to  answer.  Along  the  hill- 
side went  Alister  bounding  like  a  deer,  then  turning 
sharp,  shot  headlong  down,  dashed  into  the  torrent  — 
and  was  swept  away  like  a  cork.  Mercy  gave  a  scream, 
and  ran  down  the  hill. 

He  was  not  carried  very  far,  however.  In  a  moment 
or  two  he  had  recovered  himself,  and  crept  out  gasping 
and  laughing,  just  below  Mercy.  Ian  did  not  move. 
He  was  so  benumbed  that  to  change  his  position  an 
inch  would,  he  well  knew,  be  to  fall. 

And  now  Hector  began  to  behave  oddly.  He  threw 
a  stone,  which  went  in  front  of  Ian  and  Christina.  Then 
he  threw  another,  which  went  behind  them.  Then  he 
threw  a  third,  and  Christina  felt  her  hat  caught  by  a 
bit  of  string.  She  drew  it  towards  her  as  fast  as  numb- 
ness would  permit,  and  found  at  the  end  a  small  bottle. 
She  managed  to  get  it  uncorked,  and  put  it  to  lan's 
lips.  He  swallowed  a  mouthful,  and  made  her  take 
some.  The  chief  stood  on  the  other  side,  watching  the 
proceeding. 

"  What  would  mother  say,  Alister ! "  cried  Ian. 

In  the  joy  of  hearing  his  voice,  Alister  rushed  again 
into  the  torrent;  and  after  a  fierce  struggle,  reached 
the  mound,  where  he  scrambled  up,  and  putting  his 
arms  round  lan's  legs  with  a  shout,  lifted  the  two  at 
once  like  a  couple  of  babies. 


GRANNY   ANGRY.  321 


"  Come !  come,  Alister !  don't  be  silly ! "  said  Ian. 
«  Set  me  down  !  " 

"  Give  me  the  girl  then." 

"Take  her!" 

Christina  turned  on  him  a  sorrowful  gaze  as  Alister 
took  her. 

"I  have  killed  you ! "  she  said. 

"  You  have  done  me  the  greatest  favor,"  he  replied. 

"What?"  she  asked. 

"Accepted  help." 

She  burst  out  crying.  She  had  not  shed  a  tear  be- 
fore. 

"  Get  on  the  top  of  the  wall,  Ian,  out  of  the  wet," 
said  Alister. 

"You  can't  tell  what  the  water  may  have  done  to 
the  foundations,  Alister !  I  would  rather  not  break  my 
leg !  It  is  so  frozen  it  would  never  mend  again  ! " 

As  they  talked,  the  torrent  had  fallen  so  much,  that 
Hector  of  the  Stags  came  wading  from  the  other  side. 
A  few  minutes  more,  and  Alister  carried  Christina  to 
Mercy. 

"Now,"  he  said,  setting  her  down,  "you  must 
walk." 

Ian  could  not  cross  without  Hector's  help ;  he  seemed 
to  have  no  legs.  Nothing  could  be  done  for  them  but 
get  them  home ;  so  they  all  set  out  for  the  cottage. 

"How  will  your  crops  fare,  Alister?^  asked  Ian. 

"Part  will  be  spoiled,"  replied  the  chief;  "part  not 
much  the  worse." 

The  torrent  had  rushed  half- way  up  the  ridge,  then 
swept  along  the  side  of  it,  and  round  the  end  in  huge 
bulk,  to  the  level  on  the  other  side.  The  water  lay 
soaking  into  the  fields.  The  valley  was  desolated. 
What  green  things  had  not  been  uprooted  or  carried 


322  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

away  with  the  soil,  were  laid  flat.  Everywhere  was 
mud,  and  scattered  all  over  were  lumps  of  turf,  heather, 
brushwood,  and  small  trees.  But  it  was  early  in  the 
year,  and  there  was  hope ! 

I  will  spare  the  description  of  the  haste  and  hurry- 
ing to  and  fro  in  the  little  house  —  the  blowing  of  fires, 
the  steaming  pails  and  blankets,  the  hot  milk  and  tea ! 
Mrs.  Macruadh  rolled  up  her  sleeves,  and  worked  like  a 
good  house-maid.  Nancy  shot  hither  and  thither  on 
her  bare  feet  like  a  fawn  —  you  could  not  say  she  ran, 
and  certainly  she  did  not  walk.  Alister  got  Ian  to  bed, 
and  rubbed  him  with  rough  towels  — himself  more  wet 
than  he,  for  he  had  been  rolled  over  and  over  in  the 
torrent.  Christina  fell  asleep,  and  slept  many  hours. 
When  she  woke,  she  said  she  was  quite  well ;  but  it  was 
weeks  before  she  was  like  herself.  I  doubt  if  ever  she 
was  quite  as  strong  again.  For  some  days  Ian  con- 
fessed to  an  aching  in  his  legs  and  arms.  It  was  the 
cold  of  the  water,  he  said ;  but  Alister  insisted  it  was 
from  holding  Christina  so  long. 

"  Water  could  not  hurt  a  highlander !  "  said  Alister. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

CHANGE. 

/CHRISTINA  walked  home  without  difficulty,  but 
^^  the  next  day  did  not  leave  her  bed,  and  it  was  a 
fortnight  before  she  was  able  to  be  out  of  doors.  When 
Ian  and  she  met,  he  felt  that  her  manner  was  not  quite 
the  same.  She  seemed  a  little  timid.  As  she  shook 
hands  with  him  her  eyes  fell  ;  and  when  they  looked 
up  again  as  if  ashamed  of  their  involuntary  retreat,  her 
face  was  rosy  ;  but  the  slight  embarrassment  disappeared 
as  soon  as  they  began  to  talk.  ~No  affectation  or  for- 
mality, however,  took  its  place  ;  in  respect  of  Ian  her 
falseness  was  gone.  The  danger  she  had  been  in,  and 
her  deliverance  through  the  voluntary  sharing  of  it, 
by  Ian,  had  awaked  the  simpler,  the  real  nature  of  the 
girl,  hitherto  buried  to  impressions  and  their  responses. 
She  had  lived  but  as  a  mirror  meant  only  to  reflect  the 
outer  world  :  something  of  an  operative  existence  was 
at  length  beginning  to  appear  in  her.  She  was  grow- 
ing a  woman.  And  the  first  stage  in  that  growth  is  to 
become  as  a  little  child. 

The  child,  however,  did  not  for  some  time  show  her 
face  to  any  but  Ian.  In  his  presence  Christina  had  no 
longer  self-assertion  or  wile.  Without  seeking  his  no- 
tice she  would  yet  manifest  an  almost  childish  willing- 
ness to  please  him.  It  was  no  sudden  change.  She 
had,  ever  since  their  adventure,  been  haunted,  both 
awake  and  asleep,  by  his  presence,  and  it  had  helped 
323 


I 


324  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

her  to  some  discoveries  regarding  herself.  And  the 
more  she  grew  real,  the  nearer,  that  is,  that  she  came 
to  being  a  person,  the  more  she  came  under  the  influence 
of  his  truth,  his  reality.  It  is  only  through  live  relation 
to  others  that  any  individuality  crystallizes. 

"  You  saved  my  life,  Ian ! "  she  said  one  evening,  for 
the  tenth  time. 

"  It  pleased  God  you  should  live,"  answered  Ian. 

"Then  you  really  think,"  she  returned,  uthat  God 
interfered  to  save  us  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not ;  I  don't  think  he  ever  interferes." 

"Mr.  Sercombe  says  everything  goes  by  law,  and 
God  never  interferes ;  my  father  says  he  does  interfere 
sometimes." 

"  Would  you  say  a  woman  interfered  in  the  manage- 
ment of  her  own  house?  Can  one  be  said  to  interfere 
where  he  is  always  at  work  ?  How  can  God  interfere 
where  everything  would  stop  without  him  ?  He  is  the 
necessity  of  the  universe,  ever  and  always  doing  the 
best  that  can  be  done,  and  especially  for  the  individual, 
for  whose  sake  alone  the  cosmos  exists.  If  we  had 
been  drowned,  we  should  have  given  God  thanks  for 
saving  us." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you ! " 

"  Should  we  not  have  given  thanks  to  find  ourselves 
lifted  out  of  the  cold  rushing  waters,  in  which  we  felt 
our  strength  slowly  sinking  ?  " 

"But  you  said  drowned!  How  could  we  have 
thanked  God  for  deliverance  if  we  were  drowned  ?  " 

"What!  —  not  when  we  found  ourselves  above  the 
water,  safe  and  well,  and  more  alive  than  ever?  Would 
it  not  be  a  dreadful  thing  to  lie  tossed  for  centuries 
under  the  sea-waves  to  which  the  torrent  had  borne 
us?  Ah,  how  few  believe  in  a  life  beyond,  a  larger  life, 


CHANGE.  325 


more  awake,  more  earnest,  more  joyous  than  this ! " 

"  Oh,  I  do !  but  that  is  not  what  one  means  by  life ; 
that  is  quite  a  different  kind  of  thing ! " 

"  How  do  you  make  out  that  it  is  so  different  ?  If  I 
am  I,  and  you  are  you,  how  can  it  be  very  different 
there  ?  The  root  of  things  is  individuality,  unity  of  idea, 
and  persistence  depends  on  it.  God  is  the  one  perfect 
individual ;  and  while  this  world  is  his  and  that  world 
is  his,  there  can  be  no  inconsistency,  no  violent  differ-, 
ence,  between  there  and  here  ?  " 

"  Then  you  must  thank  God  for  everything  —  thank 
him  if  you  are  drowned,  or  burnt,  or  anything ! " 

"  Now  you  understand  me !  That  is  precisely  what 
I  mean." 

"  Then  I  can  never  be  good,  for  I  could  never  bring 
myself  to  that !  " 

"  You  cannot  bring  yourself  to  it ;  no  one  could. 
But  we  must  come  to  it.  I  believe  we  shall  all  be 
brought  to  it." 

"  Never  me  !    I  should  not  wish  it." 

"  You  do  not  wish  it ;  but  you  may  be  brought  to 
wish  it ;  and  without  it  the  end  of  your  being  cannot 
be  reached.  No  one,  of  course,  could  ever  give  thanks 
for  what  was  not  known  or  felt  as  good.  But  what  is 
good  must  come  to  be  felt  good.  Can  you  suppose  that 
Jesus  at  any  time  could  not  thank  his  Father  for  send- 
ing him  into  the  world  ?  " 

"  You  speak  as  if  we  and  he  were  of  the  same  kind." 

"  He  and  we  are  so  entirely  of  the  same  kind,  that 
there  is  no  bliss  for  him  or  for  you  or  for  me  but  in 
being  the  loving  obedient  child  of  the  one  Father."- 

"  You  frighten  me !  If  I  cannot  get  to  heaven  any 
other  way  than  that,  I  shall  never  get  there." 

"  You  will  get  there,  and  you  will  get  there  that  way 


326  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

and  no  other.  If  you  could  get  there  any  other  way, 
it  would  be  to  be  miserable." 

"  Something  tells  me  you  speak  the  truth ;  but  it  is 
terrible  !  I  do  not  like  it." 

«  Naturally." 

She  was  on  the  point  of  crying.  They  were  alone 
in  the  drawing-room  of  the  cottage,  but  his  mother 
might  enter  any  moment,  and  Tan  said  no  more. 

It  was  not  a  drawing  towards  the  things  of  peace, 
that  was  at  work  in  Christina :  it  was  an  urging  pain- 
ful sense  of  separation  from  Ian.  She  had  been  con- 
scious of  some  antipathy  even  towards  him,  so  unlike 
were  her  feelings,  thoughts,  judgments,  to  his  :  this 
feeling  had  changed  to  its  opposite. 

A  meeting  with  Ian  was  now  to  Christina  the  great 
event  of  day  or  week ;  but  Ian,  in  love  with  the  dead, 
never  thought  of  danger  to  either. 

One  morning  she  woke  from  a  sound  and  dreamless 
sleep,  and,  getting  out  of  bed  drew  aside  the  curtains, 
looked  out,  and  then  opened  her  window.  It  was  a 
lovely  spring-morning.  The  birds  were  singing  loud 
in  the  fast  greening  shrubbery.  A  soft  wind  was  blow- 
ing. It  came  to  her  where  she  stood,  and  said  some- 
thing of  which  she  understood  only  that  it  was  both 
lovely  and  sad.  The  sun,  but  a  little  way  up,  was 
shining  over  hills  and  cone-shaped  peaks,  whose  shad- 
ows, stretching  eagerly  westward,  were  yet  ever  short- 
ening eastward.  His  light  was  gentle,  warm  and  humid, 
as  if  a  little  sorrowful,  she  thought,  over  his  many  dead 
children,  that  he  must  call  forth  so  many  more  to  the 
new  life  of  the  reviving  year.  Suddenly  as  she  gazed, 
the  little  clump  of  trees  against  the  hillside  stood  as 
she  had  never  seen  them  stand  before  —  as  if  the  sap  in 
them  were  no  longer  colorless  but  red  with  human  life ; 


CHANGE.  327 


nature  was  alive  with  a  presence  she  had  never  seen 
before;  it  was  instinct  with  a  meaning,  an  intent,  a 
soul ;  the  mountains  stood  against  the  sky  as  if  reach- 
ing upward,  knowing  something,  waiting  for  something ; 
over  all  was  a  glory.  The  change  was  far  more  won- 
drous than  from  winter  to  summer  ;  it  was  not  as  if  a 
dead  body,  but  a  dead  soul  had  come  alive.  What 
could  it  mean?  Had  the  new  aspect  come  forth  to 
answer  this  glow  in  her  heart,  or  was  the  glow  in  her 
heart  the  reflection  of  this  new  aspect  of  the  world? 
She  was  ready  to  cry  aloud  not  with  joy,  not  from  her 
feeling  of  the  beauty,  but  with  a  sensation  almost, 
hitherto  unknown,  therefore  nameless.  It  was  a  new 
and  marvellous  interest  in  the  world,  a  new  sense  of 
life  in  herself,  of  life  in  everything,  a  recognition  of 
brother-existence,  a  life-contact  with  the  universe,  a 
conscious  flash  of  the  divine  in  her  soul,  a  throb  of  the 
pure  joy  of  being.  She  was  nearer  God  than  she  had 
ever  been  before.  But  she  did  not  know  this  —  might 
never  in  this  world  know  it ;  she  understood  nothing 
of  what  was  going  on  in  her,  only  felt  it  go  on ;  it  was 
not  love  of  God  that  was  moving  in  her.  Yet  she  stood 
in  her  white  dress  like  one  risen  from  the  grave,  look- 
ing in  sweet  bliss  on  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth, 
made  new  by  the  new-opening  of  her  eyes.  To  save 
man  or  woman,  the  next  thing  to  the  love  of  God  is 
the  love  of  man  or  woman ;  only  let  no  man  or  woman 
mistake  the  love  of  love  for  love  ! 

She  started,  grew  white,  stood  straight  up,  grew  red 
as  a  sunset :  —  was  it  —  could  it  be  ?  —  "  Is  this  love  ?  " 
she  said  to  herself,  and  for.  minutes  she  hardly  moved. 

It  was  love.  Whether  love  was  in  her  or  not,  she 
was  in  love  —  and  it  might  get  inside  her.  She  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  wept. 


328  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

With  what  opportunities  I  have  had  of  studying,  I 
do  not  say  understanding,  the  human  heart,  I  should 
not  have  expected  such  feeling  from  Christina  —  and 
she  wondered  at  it  herself.  Till  a  child  is  awake,  how 
tell  his  mood?  —  until  a  woman  is  awaked,  how  tell 
her  nature  ?  Who  knows  himself  ? —  and  how  then 
shall  he  know  his  neighbor  ? 

For  who  can  know  anything  except  on  the  supposi- 
tion of  its  remaining  the  same?  and  the  greatest 
change  of  all,  next  to  being  born  again,  is  beginning  to 
love.  The  very  faculty  of  loving  had  been  hitherto 
repressed  in  the  soul  of  Christina  —  by  poor  education, 
by  low  family  and  social  influences,  by  familiarity  with 
the  worship  of  riches,  by  vanity,  and  consequent  hunger 
after  the  attentions  of  men  ;  but  now  at  length  she  was 
in  love. 

At  breakfast,  though  she  was  silent,  she  looked  so 
well  that  her  mother  complimented  her  on  her  loveli- 
ness. Had  she  been  more  of  a  mother,  she  might  have 
seen  cause  for  anxiety  in  this  fresh  bourgeoning  of  her 
beauty. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

LOYE   ALLODIAL. 

WHILE  the  chief  went  on  in  his  humble  way,  en- 
joying life  and  his  lowly  position ;  in  the  so- 
ciety of  his  brother,  seeming  to  walk  the  outer  courts  of 
heaven  ;  and,  unsuspicious  of  the  fact,  growing  more 
and  more  in  love  with  the  ill-educated,  but  simple,  open, 
and  wise  Mercy,  a  trouble  was  gathering  for  him,  of 
which  he  had  no  presentiment.  We  have  to  be  delivered 
from  the  evils  of  which  we  are  unaware  as  well  as  from 
those  we  hate ;  and  the  chief  had  to  be  set  free  from  his 
unconscious  worship  of  Mammon.  He  did  not  worship 
Mammon  by  yielding  homage  to  riches ;  he  did  not 
make  a  man's  money  his  pedestal ;  had  he  been  himself 
a  millionaire,  he  would  not  have  connived  at  being  there- 
fore held  in  honor  ;  but,  ever  consciously  aware  of  the 
deteriorating  condition  of  the  country,  and  pitifully  re- 
garding the  hundred  and  fifty  souls  who  yet  looked  to 
him  as  their  head,  often  turning  it  over  in  his  mind 
how  to  shepherd  them  should  things  come  to  a  crisis, 
his  abiding,  ever  recurring  comfort  was  the  money  from 
the  last  sale  of  the  property,  and  now  accumulating 
ever  since,  to  be  his  in  a  very  few  years :  he  always 
thought,  I  say,  first  of  this  money  and  not  first  of  God. 
He  imagined  it  an  exhaustible  sum,  a  power  with  which 
for  his  clan  he  could  work  wonders.  It  is  the  common 
human  mistake  to  think  of  money  as  a  power  and  not 
as  a  mere  tool.  But  he  never  thought  of  it  otherwise 

329 


330  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

than  as  belonging  to  the  clan  ;  never  imagined  the  least 
liberty  to  use  it  save  in  the  direct  service  of  his  people. 
And  all  the  time,  the  very  shadow  of  this  money  was 
disappearing  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

It  had  scarcely  been  deposited  where  the  old  laird 
judged  it  as  safe  as  in  the  Bank  of  England,  when 
schemes  and  'speculations  were  entered  into  by  the  in- 
trusted company  which  brought  into  jeopardy  every 
thing  it  held,  and  things  had  been  going  from  bad  to 
worse  ever  since.  Nothing  of  this  was  yet  known,  for 
the  directors  had  from  the  first  carefully  muffled  up  the 
truth,  avoiding  the  least  economy  lest  it  should  be  inter- 
preted as  hinting  at  any  need  of  prudence,  living  in  false 
show  with  the  very  money  they  were  thus  lying  away, 
warming  and  banqueting  their  innocent  neighbors  with 
fuel  and  wine  stolen  from  their  own  cellars,  and  work- 
ing worse  wrong  and  more  misery  under  the  robe  of 
imputed  righteousness,  that  is,  respectability,  than  could 
a  little  army  of  burglars.  Unknown  to  a  trusting  mul- 
titude, the  vacant  eyes  of  loss  were  drawing  near  to 
stare  them  out  of  hope  and  comfort :  and  annihilation 
had  long  closed  in  upon  the  fund  which  the  chief  re- 
garded as  the  sheet-anchor  of  his  clan :  he  trusted  in  ' 
Mammon,  and  Mammon  had  played  him  a  rogue's 
trick.  The  most  degrading  wrong  to  ourselves,  and 
the  worst  eventual  wrong  to  others,  is  to  trust  in  any 
thing  or  person  but  the  living  God :  it  was  an  evil 
thing  from  which  the  chief  had  sore  need  to  be  deliv- 
ered. Even  those  who  help  us  we  must  regard  as  the 
loving  hands  of  the  great  heart  of  the  universe,  else  we 
do  God  wrong,  and  will  come  to  do  them  wrong  also. 

And  there  was  more  yet  of  what  we  call  mischief 
brewing  in  another  quarter  to  like  hurt. 

Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  was  not  now  so  rich  a  man  as 


LOYE    ALLODIAL.  331 


'when  he  bought  his  highland  property ;  he  was  also  in- 
volved in  affairs  of  doubtful  result.  It  was  natural, 
therefore,  that  he  should  begin  to  think  of  the  said 
property  not  merely  as  an  ornament  of  life,  but  as 
something  to  fall  back  upon.  He  feared  nothing,  how- 
ever, more  unpleasant  than  a  temporary  embarrassment. 
Had  not  his  family  been  in  the  front  for  three  genera- 
tions !  Had  he  not  then  a  vested  right  in  success ! 
He  had  a  claim  for  the  desire  of  his  heart,  on  whatever 
power  it  was  that  he  pictured  to  himself  as  throned  in 
the  heavens.  It  never  came  into  his  head  that,  seeing 
there  were  now  daughters  in  the  family,  it  might  be 
worth  the  while  of  that  Power  to  make  a  poor  man  of 
him  for  their  sakes ;  or  that  neither  he,  his  predecessors, 
nor  his  sons,  had  ever  come  near  enough  to  anything 
human  to  be  fit  for  having  their  pleasures  taken  from 
them.  But  what  I  have  to  do  with  is  the  new  aspect 
his  Scotch  acres  now  put  on  :  he  must  see  to  making 
the  best  of  them !  and  that  best  would  be  a  deer-for- 
est! He  and  his  next  neighbor  might  together  effect 
something  worth  doing !  The  shepherds  in  especial 
must  be  got  rid  of  —  with  all  other  crofters  or  villagers 
likely  to  trespass !  But  the  shepherds  had  the  most 
and  best  opportunities  for  helping  themselves  to  a  deer, 
and  where  there  were  sheep  there  must  be  shepherds : 
they  would  make  a  clearance  of  both  !  The  neighbor 
referred  to,  a  certain  Mr.  Smith,  who  had  made  his 
money  by  sharp  dealing  in  connection  with  a  great 
Russian  railway,  and  whom  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer 
knew  before  in  London,  had  enlightened  him  on  many 
things,  and  amongst  others  on  the  shepherd's  passion 
for  deer-stalking.  Being  in  the  company  of  the  deer, 
he  said,  the  whole  day,  and  the  whole  year  through, 
they  were  thoroughly  acquainted  with  their  habits  and 


332  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

were  altogether  too  much  both  for  the  deer  and  for 
their  owners.  A  shepherd  would  take  the  barrel  of  his 
gun  from  the  stock,  and  thrust  it  down  his  back,  or  put 
it  in  a  hollow  crook,  and  so  convey  it  to  the  vicinity  of 
some  spot  frequented  by  a  particular  animal  to  lie  hid- 
den there  for  his  opportunity.  In  the  hills  it  was  often 
impossible  to  tell  with  certainty  whence  came  the 
sound  of  a  shot ;  and  no  rascal  of  them  would  give  in- 
formation concerning  another !  In  short,  there  was  no 
protecting  the  deer  without  uprooting  and  expelling  the 
peasantry  ! 

The  village  of  the  Clanruadh  was  on  Mr.  Smith's 
land,  and  was  dependent  in  part  on  the  produce  of 
small  pieces  of  ground,  the  cultivators  of  which  were 
mostly  men  with  some  employment  besides.  Some 
made  shoes  of  the  hides,  others  cloth  and  clothes  of  the 
wool  of  the  country.  Some  were  servants  on  neighbor- 
ing farms,  but  most  were  shepherds,  for  there  was  now 
very  little  tillage.  Almost  all  the  land  formerly  culti- 
vated, had  been  given  up  to  grass  and  sheep,  and  not  a 
little  of  it  was  steadily  returning  to  that  state  of  nature 
from  which  it  had  been  reclaimed,  producing  of  heather, 
ling,  blueberries,  knowperts,  and  cranberries.  The  ham- 
let was  too  far  from  the  sea  for  much  fishing,  but  some 
of  its  inhabitants  would  join  relatives  on  the  coast,  and 
go  fishing  with  them,  when  there  was  nothing  else  to 
be  done.  But  many  of  those  who  looked  to  the  sea  for 
help  had  lately  come  through  a  hard  time,  in  which 
they  would  have  died  but  for  the  sea-weed  and  shell- 
fish the  shore  afforded  them ;  yet,  such  was  their  spirit 
of  independence  that  a  commission  appointed  to  inquire 
into  their  necessity,  found  scarcely  one  willing  to  ac- 
knowledge any  want :  such  was  the  class  of  men  and 
women  now  doomed,  at  the  will  of  two  common- 


LOVE    ALLODIAL.  333 


minded,  greedy  men,  to  expulsion  from  the  houses  and 
land  it  had  held  for  many  generations  and  loved  with  a 
love  unintelligible  to  their  mean-souled  oppressors. 

Ian,  having  himself  learned  the  lesson  that,  so  long  as 
a  man  is  dependent  on  anything  earthly,  he  is  not  a 
free  man,  was  very  desirous  to  have  his  brother  free 
also.  He  could  not  be  satisfied  to  leave  the  matter 
where,  on  their  way  home  that  night  from  the  tomb, 
their  talk  had  left  it.  Alister's  love  of  the  material 
world,  of  the  soil  of  his  ancestral  acres,  was,  Ian  plainly 
saw,  not  yet  one  with  the  meaning  and  will  of  God  :  he 
was  not  yet  content  that  the  home  of  his  fathers  should 
fare  as  the  father  of  fathers  pleased.  He  was  therefore 
on  the  outlook  for  the  right  opportunity  of  having  an- 
other talk  with  him  on  the  subject. 

That  those  who  are  trying  to  be  good  are  more  con- 
tinuously troubled  than  the  indifferent,  has  for  ages 
been  a  puzzle.  "  I  saw  the  wicked  spreading  like  a 
green  bay  tree,"  says  king  David ;  and  he  was  far  from 
having  fathomed  the  mystery  when  he  got  his  mind  at 
rest  about  it.  Is  it  not  simply  that  the  righteous  are 
worth  troubling  ?  that  they  are  capable  of  receiving 
good  from  being  troubled  ?  As  a  man  advances,  more 
and  more  is  required  of  him.  A  wrong  thing  in  the 
good  man  becomes  more  and  more  wrong  as  he  draws 
nearer  to  freedom  from  it.  His  friends  may  say  how 
seldom  he  offends  ;  but  every  time  he  offends,  he  is  the 
more  to  blame.  Some  are  allowed  to  go  on  because  it 
would  be  of  no  use  to  stop  them  yet ;  nothing  would 
yet  make  them  listen  to  wisdom.  There  must  be  many 
who,  like  Dives,  need  the  bitter  contrast  between  the 
good  things  of  this  life  and  the  evil  things  of  the  next, 
to  wake  them  up.  In  this  life  they  are  not  only  fools, 
and  insist  on  being  treated  as  fools,  but  would  have 


334  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MIKE. 

God  consent  to  treat  them  as  if  he  too  had  no  wisdom  ! 
The  laird  was  one  in  whom  was  no  guile,  but  he  was 
far  from  perfect :  any  man  is  far  from  perfect  whose 
sense  of  well-being  could  be  altered  by  any  change  of 
circumstances.  A  man  unable  to  do  without  this  thing 
or  that,  is  not  yet  in  sight  of  his  perfection,  therefore 
not  out  of  sight  of  suffering.  They  who  do  not  know 
suffering,  may  well  doubt  if  they  have  yet  started  on  the 
way  to  be.  If  clouds  were  gathering  to  burst  in  fierce  hail 
on  the  head  of  the  chief,  it  was  that  he  might  be  set  free 
from  yet  another  of  the  cords  that  bound  him.  He  was 
like  a  soaring  eagle  from  whose  foot  hung,  trailing  on  the 
earth,  the  line  by  which  his  tyrant  could  pull  him  back 
to  his  inglorious  perch  at  his  will. 

To  worship  truly  is  to  treat  according  to  indwelling 
worth.  The  highest  worship  of  Nature  is  to  worship 
towards  it,  as  David  and  Daniel  worshipped  towards 
the  holy  place.  But  even  the  worship  of  Nature  her- 
self might  be  an  ennobling  idolatry,  so  much  is  the 
divine  present  in  her.  There  is  an  intense,  almost  sen- 
suous love  of  Nature,  such  as  the  chief  confessed  to  his 
brother,  which  is  not  only  one  with  love  to  the  soul  of 
Nature,  but  tends  to  lift  the  soul  of  man  up  to  the  lord 
of  Nature.  To  love  the  soul  of  Nature,  however,  does 
not  secure  a  man  from  loving  the  body  of  Nature  in 
the  low  Mammon-way  of  possession.  A  man  who  loves 
the  earth  even  as  the  meek  love  it,  may  also  love  it  in 
a  way  hostile  to  such  possession  of  it  as  is  theirs.  The 
love  of  possessing  as  property,  must,  unchecked,  come 
in  time  to  annihilate  in  a  man  the  inheritance  of  the 
meek. 

A  few  acres  of  good  valley-land,  with  a  small  upland 
pasturage,  and  a  space  of  barren  hill-country,  had  de- 
veloped in  the  chief  a  greater  love  of  the  land  as  pos- 


LOVE    ALLODIAL.  335 


session  than  would  have  come  of  entrance  upon  an 
undiminished  inheritance.  He  clave  to  the  ground 
remaining  to  him,  as  to  the  last  remnant  of  a  vanishing 
good. 

One  day  the  brothers  were  lying  on  the  westward 
slope  of  the  ridge,  in  front  of  the  cottage.  A  few 
sheep,  small,  active,  black-faced,  were  feeding  around 
them  :  it  was  no  use  running  away,  for  the  chief's  colley 
was  lying  beside  him  !  The  laird  every  now  and  then 
buried  his  face  in  the  short  sweet  mountain-grass  —  like 
that  of  the  downs  in  England,  not  like  the  rich  sown 
grass  on  the  cultivated  bank  of  the  burn. 

"  I  believe  I  love  the  grass,"  he  said,  "  as  much,  Tan, 
as  your  Chaucer  loved  the  daisy  ! " 

"  Hardly  so  much,  I  should  think  !  "  returned  Ian. 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  if  grass  can  be  loved  so  much  as  a  flower." 

«  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  the  one  is  a  mass,  the  other  an  individ- 
ual." 

"  I  understand." 

"  I  have  a  fear,  Alister,  that  you  are  in  danger  of 
avarice,"  said  Ian  after  a  pause. 

"  Avarice,  Ian  !     What  can  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  are  as  free,  Alister,  from  the  love  of  money, 
as  any  man  I  ever  knew,  but  that  is  not  enough.  Did 
you  ever  think  of  the  origin  of  the  word  avarice?" 

«  No." 

"  It  comes  —  at  least  it  seems  to  me  to  come  —  from 
the  same  root  as  the  verb  have,  and  holds  relation  with 
anything.  It  is  the  desire  to  call  things  ours  —  the  de- 
sire of  company  which  is  not  of  our  kind  —  company 
such  as,  if  small  enough,  you  would  put  in  your  pocket 
and  carry  about  with  you.  We  call  the  holding  in  the 


336  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

hand,  or  the  house,  or  the  pocket,  or  the  power,  having; 
but  such  things  cannot  really  be  had  /  having  is  but  an 
illusion  in  regard  to  things.  It  is  only  what  we  can  be 
with  that  we  can  really  possess  —  that  is,  what  is  of 
our  kind,  from  God  to  the  lowest  animal  partaking  of 
humanity.  A  love  can  never  be  lost ;  it  is  a  possession  ; 
but  who  can  take  his  diamond  ring  into  the  somewhere 
beyond?  —  it  is  not  a  possession.  God  only  can  be 
ours  perfectly  ;  nothing  called  property  can  be  ours  at 
all." 

"  I  know  it  —  with  my  head  at  least,"  said  Alister ; 
"  but  I  am  not  sure  how  you  apply  it  to  me." 

"  You  love  your  country  —  don't  you,  Alister  ?  " 

« I  do." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  loving  your  country  f  " 

"  It  is  hard  to  say  all  at  once.  The  first  thing  that 
comes  to  me  is,  that  I  would  rather  live  in  it  than  in 
any  other." 

"  Would  you  care  to  vaunt  your  country  at  the  ex- 
pense of  any  other  ?  " 

"  Not  if  it  did  not  plainly  excel  —  and  even  then  it 
might  be  neither  modest  nor  polite  !  " 

"  Would  you  feel  bound  to  love  a  man  more  because 
he  was  a  fellow-countryman  ?  " 

"  Other  things  being  equal,  I  could  not  help  it." 

"  Other  things  not  being  equal  —  ?  " 

"  I  should  love  the  best  man  best  —  Scotsman  or 
negro." 

"  That  is  as  I  thought  of  you.  For  my  part,  my  love 
for  my  own  people  has  taught  me  to  love  every  man, 
be  his  color  or  country  what  it  may.  The  man  whose 
patriotism  is  not  leading  him  in  that  direction  has  not 
yet  begun  to  be  a  true  patriot.  Let  him  go  to  St.  Paul 
and  learn,  or  stay  in  his  own  cellar  and  be  an  idiot.  — 


LOVE    ALLODIAL.  337 


But  now,  from  loving  our  country,  let  us  go  down  the 
other  way:  —  Do  you  love  the  highlands  or  the  low- 
lands best  ?  You  love  the  highlands,  of  course,  you  say. 
And  what  country  do  you  like  best  ?  Our  own.  What 
parish?  Your  father's.  What  part  of  the  parish? 
Why  this,  where  at  this  moment  we  are  lying.  Now 
let  me  ask,  have  you,  by  your  love  for  this  piece  of  the 
world,  which  you  wrill  allow  me  to  call  ours,  learned  to 
love  the  whole  world  in  like  fashion  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  so.  I  do  not  think  we  can  love  the 
whole  world  in  the  same  way  as  our  own  part  of  it  — 
the  part  where  we  were  born  and  bred  !  It  is  a  portion 
of  our  very  being." 

"  If  your  love  to  what  we  call  our  own  land  is  a  love 
that  cannot  spread,  it  seems  to  me  of  a  questionable 
kind  ?  —  of  a  kind  involving  the  false  notion  of  having? 
The  love  that  is  eternal  alone  is  true,  and  that  is  the 
love  of  the  essential,  which  is  the  universal.  We  love 
indeed  individuals  even  to  their  peculiarities,  but  only 
because  of  what  lies  under  and  is  the  life  of  them  — 
what  they  share  with  every  other,  the  eternal  God-born 
humanity  which  is  the  person.  Without  this  humanity 
where  were  your  friend  ?  Mind,  I  mean  no  abstraction, 
but  the  live  individual  humanity.  Do  you  see  what  I 
am  driving  at  ?  I  would  extend  my  love  of  the  world 
to  all  the  worlds ;  my  love  of  huwianity  to  all  that  in- 
habit them.  I  want,  from  being  a  Scotsman,  to  be  a 
Briton,  then  a  European,  then  a  cosmopolitan,  then  a 
dweller  of  the  universe,  a  lover  of  all  the  worlds  I  see, 
and  shall  one  day  know.  In  the  face  of  such  a  hope,  I 
find  my  love  for  this  ground  of  my  fathers  —  not  indeed 
less  than  before,  but  very  small.  It  has  served  its  pur- 
pose in  having  begun  in  me  love  of  the  revelation  of 
God.  Wherever  I  see  the  beauty  of  the  Lord,  that 


338  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

shall  be  to  me  his  holy  temple.  Our  Lord  was  sent 
first  to  the  lost  sheep  of  the  house  of  Israel: — how 
would  you  bear  to  be  told  that  he  loved  them  more 
than  Africans  or  Scotsmen  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  bear  it." 

"  Then,  Alister,  do  you  not  see  that  the  love  of  our 
mother  earth  is  meant  to  be  but  a  beginning ;  and  that 
such  love  as  yours  for  the  land  belongs  to  that  love  of 
things  which  must  perish  ?  You  seem  to  me  not  to  al- 
low it  to  blossom,  but  to  keep  it  a  hard  bud  ;  and  a  bud 
that  will  not  blossom  is  a  coffin.  A  flower  is  a  com- 
pleted idea,  a  thought  of  God,  a  creature  whose  body  is 
most  perishable,  but  whose  soul,  its  idea,  cannot  die. 
With  the  idea  of  it  in  you,  the  withering  of  the  flower 
you  can  bear.  The  God  in  it  is  yours  always.  Every 
spring  you  welcome  the  daisy  anew ;  every  time  the 
primrose  departs,  it  grows  more  dear  by  its  death.  I 
say  there  must  be  a  better  way  of  loving  the  ground  on 
which  we  were  born,  than  that  whence  the  loss  of  it 
would  cause  us  torture." 

Alister  listened  as  to  a  prophecy  of  evil. 

"  Rather  than  that  cottage  and  those  fields  should 
pass  into  the  hands  of  others,"  he  said,  almost  fiercely, 
"  I  would  see  them  sunk  in  a  roaring  tide  !  " 

Ian  rose,  and  walked  slowly  away. 

Alister  lay  clutching  the  ground  with  his  hands. 
For  a  passing  moment  Ian  felt  as  if  he  had  lost  him. 

"  Lord,  save  him  from  this  demon-love,"  he  said,  and 
sat  down  among  the  pines. 

In  a  few  minutes,  Alister  came  to  him. 

"  You  cannot  mean,  Ian,"  he  said  —  and  his  face 
was  white  through  all  its  brown,  "  that  I  am  to  think 
no  more  of  the  fields  of  my  fathers  than  of  any  other 
ground  on  the  face  of  the  earth  !  " 


LOYE    ALLODIAL.  339 


"  Think  of  them  as  the  ground  God  gave  to  our 
fathers,  which  God  may  see  fit  to  take  from  us  again, 
and  I  shall  be  content  —  for  the  present,"  answered  Ian. 

"  Do  not  be  vexed  with  me,"  cried  Alister.  "  I  want 
to  think  as  well  as  do  what  is  right ;  but  you  can  not 
know  how  I  feel  or  you  would  spare  me.  I  love  the 
very  stones  and  clods  of  the  land !  The  place  is  to  me 
as  Jerusalem  to  the  Jews  :  —  you  know  what  the  psalm 
says :  — 

Thy  saints  take  pleasure  in  her  stones, 
Her  very  dust  to  them  is  dear. 

" They  loved  their  land  as  theirs"  said  Ian,  " and 
have  lost  it !  " 

"I  know  I  must  be  cast  out  of  it!  I  know  I  must 
die  and  go  from  it ;  but  I  shall  come  back  and  wander 
about  the  fields  and  the  hills  with  you  and  father  and 
mother !  " 

"  And  how  about  your  horse  ?  "  asked  Ian,  willing  to 
divert  his  thoughts  for  a  time. 

"  Well !  Daoimean  and  dog  Luath  are  so  good  that  I 
don't  see  why  I  should  not  have  them  !  " 

"  No  more  do  I !  "  responded  Ian.  "  We  may  be 
sure  God  will  either  let  you  have  them,  or  show  you 
reason  to  content  you  for  not  having  them !  No  love 
of  any  thing  is  to  be  put  in  the  same  thought-pocket 
with  love  for  the  poorest  creature  that  has  life.  But 
I  am  sometimes  not  a  little  afraid  lest  your  love  for  the 
soil  get  right  into  your  soul.  We  are  here  but  pilgrims 
and  strangers.  God  did  not  make  the  world  to  be 
dwelt  in,  but  to  be  journeyed  through.  We  must  not 
love  it  as  he  did  not  mean  we  should.  If  we  do,  he 
may  have  great  trouble  and  we  much  hurt  ere  we  are 
set  free  from  it.  Alister,  would  you  willingly  walk  out 


340  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

of  the  house  to  follow  him  up  and  down  forever  ? " 

"I  don't  know  about  willingly"  replied  Alister, 
"  but  if  I  were  sure  it  was  he  calling  me,  I  am  sure  I 
would  walk  out  and  follow  him." 

"  What  if  your  love  of  house  and  lands  prevented 
you  from  being  sure,  when  he  called  you,  that  it  was 
he?" 

"  That  would  be  terrible  !  But  he  would  not  leave 
me  so.  He  would  not  forsake  me  in  my  ignorance  ! " 

"  No.  Having  to  take  you  from  everything,  he  would 
take  everything  from  you  !  " 

Alister  went  into  the  house. 

He  did  not  know  how  much  of  the  worldly  mingled 
with  the  true  in  him.  He  loved  his  people,  and  was 
unselfishly  intent  on  helping  them  to  the  utmost ;  but 
the  thought  that  he  was  their  chief  was  no  small  satis- 
faction and  the  relation  between  them  was  a  grand 
one,  self  had  there  the  more  soil  wherein  to  spread  its 
creeping  choke-grass  roots.  In  like  manner,  his  love  of 
nature  nourished  the  parasite  possession.  He  had  but 
those  bare  hill-sides,  and  those  few  rich  acres,  yet  when, 
from  his  eyry  on  the  hill-top,  he  looked  down  among 
the  valleys,  his  heart  would  murmur  within  him,  "  From 
my  feet  the  brook  flows  gurgling  to  water  my  fields ! 
the  wild  moors  around  me  feed  my  sheep !  Yon  glen 
is  full  of  my  people !  "  Even  with  the  pure  smell  of  the 
earth,  mingled  the  sense  of  its  possession.  When,  step- 
ping from  his  cave-house,  he  saw  the  sun  rise  on  the 
outstretched  grandeur  of  the  mountain-world,  and  felt 
the  earth  a  new  creation  as  truly  as  when  Adam  first 
opened  his  eyes  on  its  glory,  his  heart  would  give  one 
little  heave  more  at  the  thought  that  a  portion  of  it 
was  his  own.  But  all  is  man's  only  because  it  is  God's. 
The  true  possession  of  anything  is  to  see  and  feel  in  it 


LOVE    ALLODIAL.  341 


what  God  made  it  for ;  and  the  uplifting  of  the  soul  by 
that  knowledge,  is  the  joy  of  true  having.  The  Lord 
had  no  land  of  his  own.  He  did  not  care  to  have  it, 
any  more  than  the  twelve  legions  of  angels  he  would 
not  pray  for :  his  pupils  must  not  care  for  things  he  did 
not  care  for.  He  had  no  place  to  lay  his  head  in  —  had 
not  even  a  grave  of  his  own.  For  want  of  a  boat  he 
had  once  to  walk  the  rough  Galilean  sea.  True,  he 
might  have  gone  with  the  rest,  but  he  had  to  stop  be- 
hind to  pray :  he  could  not  do  without  that.  Once  he 
sent  a  fish  to  fetch  him  money,  but  only  to  pay  a  tax. 
He  had  even  to  borrow  the  few  loaves  and  little  fishes 
from  a  boy,  to  feed  his  five  thousand  with. 

The  half-hour  which  Alister  spent  in  the  silence  of 
his  chamber,  served  him  well :  a  ray  as  of  light  polar- 
ized entered  his  soul  in  its  gloom.  He  returned  to  Ian, 
who  had  been  all  the  time  walking  up  and  down  the 
ridge. 

"You  are  right,  Ian!"  he  said.  "I  do  love  the 
world !  If  I  were  deprived  of  what  I  hold,  I  should 
doubt  God  !  I  fear,  oh,  I  fear,  Ian,  he  is  going  to  take 
the  land  from  me !  " 

"  We  must  never  fear  the  will  of  God,  Alister !  We 
are  not  right  until  we  can  pray  heartily,  not  say  submis- 
sively, c  Thy  will  be  done ! '  We  have  not  one  interest, 
and  God  another.  When  we  wish  what  he  does  not 
wish,  we  are  not  more  against  him  than  against  our  real 
selves.  We  are  traitors  to  the  human  when  we  think 
anything  but  the  will  of  God  desirable,  when  we  fear 
our  very  life." 

It  was  getting  toward  summer,  and  the  days  were 
growing  longer. 

"  Let  us  spend  a  night  in  the  tomb !  "  said  Ian  5  and 
they  fixed  a  day  in  the  following  week. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

MERCY   CALLS     ON"    GEANNT.  « 

A  LTHOUGH  the  subject  did  not  again  come  up, 
-£^-  Mercy  had  not  forgotten  what  Ian  had  said 
about  listening  for  the  word  of  Nature,  and  had  resolved 
to  get  away  the  first  time  she  could,  and  see  whether 
Granny,  as  Ian  had  called  her,  would  have  anything 
to  do  with  her.  It  were  hard  to  say  what  she  expected 
—  something  half  magical  rather  than  anything  quite 
natural.  The  notions  people  have  of  spiritual  influence 
are  so  unlike  the  facts,  that,  when  it  begins  they  never 
recognize  it,  but  imagine  something  common  at  work. 
When  the  Lord  came,  those  who  were  looking  for  him 
did  not  know  him :  —  was  he  not  a  man  like  themselves ! 
did  they  not  know  his  father  and  mother  ! 

It  was  a  fine  spring  morning  when  Mercy  left  the 
house  to  seek,  an  interview  with  Nature  somewhere 
among  the  hills.  She  took  a  path  she  knew  well,  and 
then  struck  into  a  sheep-track  she  had  never  tried.  Up 
and  up  she  climbed,  nor  spent  a  thought  on  the  sudden 
changes  to  which  at  that  season,  and  amongst  those 
hills,  the  weather  was  subject.  With  no  anxiety  as  to 
how  she  might  fare,  she  was  yet  already  not  without 
some  awe :  she  was  at  length  on  pilgrimage  to  the  tem- 
ple of  Isis ! 

Not  until  she  was  beyond  sight  of  any  house,  did  she 
begin  to  feel  alone.  It  was  a  new  sensation,  and  of  a 
mingled  sort.  But  the  slight  sense  of  anxiety  and  fear 
342 


MEKCY   CALLS    ON    GRANNY.  343 

that  made  part  of  it,  was  soon  overpowered  by  some- 
thing not  unlike  the  exhilaration  of  a  child  escaped 
from  school.  This  grew  and  grew  until  she  felt  like  a 
wild  thing  that  had  been  caught,  and  had  broken  loose. 
Now  first,  almost,  she  seemed  to  have  begun  to  live,  for 
now  first  was  she  free !  She  might  lie  in  the  heather, 
walk  in  the  stream,  do  as  she  pleased !  ~No  one  would 
interfere  with  her,  no  one  say  Dorft!  She  felt  stronger 
and  fresher  than  ever  in  her  life ;  and  the  farther  she 
went,  the  greater  grew  the  pleasure.  The  little  burn 
up  whose  banks,  now  the  one  and  now  the  other,  she 
was  walking,  kept  on  welcoming  her  unaccustomed  feet 
to  the  realms  of  solitude  and  liberty.  Forever  it  seemed 
coming  to  meet  her,  hasting,  running  steep,  as  if  straight 
out  of  the  heaven  to  which  she  was  drawing  nearer  and 
nearer.  The  wind  woke  now  and  then,  and  blew  on 
her  for  a  moment,  as  if  tasting  her,  to  see  what  this 
young  Psyche  was  that  had  floated  up  into  the  wild 
thin  air  of  the  hills.  The  incessant  meeting  of  the 
brook  made  it  a  companion  to  her  although  it  could 
not  go  her  way,  and  was  always  leaving  her.  But  it 
kept  her  from  the  utter  loneliness  she  sought,  for  lone- 
liness is  imperfect  while  sound  is  by,  especially  a  sing- 
sound,  and  the  brook  was  one  of  Nature's  self-playing 
song-instruments.  But  she  came  at  length  to  a  point 
where  the  ground  was  too  rough  to  let  her  follow  its 
path  any  more,  and  turning  from  it,  she  began  to  climb 
a  steep  ridge.  The  growing  and  deepening  silence  as 
she  went  farther  and  farther  from  the  brook,  promised  the 
very  place  for  her  purpose  on  the  top  of  the  heathery 
ridge. 

But  when  she  reached  it  and  looked  behind  her,  lo, 
the  valley  she  had  left  lay  at  her  very  feet !  The  world 
had  rushed  after  and  caught  her!  She  had  not  got 


344  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE.  «. 

away  from  it!  It  was  like  being  enchanted!  She 
thought  she  was  leaving  it  far  behind,  but  the  nature 
she  sought  to  escape  that  she  might  find  Nature,  would 
not  let  her  go  !  It  kept  following  her  as  if  to  see  that 
she  fell  into  no  snare,  neither  was  too  sternly  received 
by  the  loftier  spaces.  She  could  distinguish  one  of  the 
laird's  men,  ploughing  in  the  valley  below :  she  knew 
him  by  his  red  waistcoat !  Almost  fiercely  she  turned 
and  made  for  the  next  ridge :  it  would  screen  her  from 
the  world  she  had  left ;  it  should  not  spy  upon  her ! 
The  danger  of  losing  her  way  back  never  suggested  it- 
self. She  had  not  learned  that  the  look  of  things  as 
you  go,  is  not  their  look  when  you  turn  to  go  back ; 
that  with  your  attitude  their  mood  will  have  altered. 
Nature  is  like  a  lobster-pot :  she  lets  you  easily  go  on, 
but  not  easily  return. 

When  she  gained  the  summit  of  the  second  ridge, 
she  looked  abroad  on  a  country  of  which  she  knew 
nothing.  It  was  like  the  face  of  an  utter  stranger. 
Not  far  beyond  rose  yet  another  ridge  :  she  must  see 
how  the  world  looked  from  that !  On  and  on  she  went, 
crossing  ridge  after  ridge,  but  no  place  invited  her  to 
stay  and  be  still. 

She  found  she  was  weary,  and  spying  in  the  midst  of 
some  short  heather,  a  great  stone,  sat  down  upon  it, 
and  gave  herself  up  to  the  rest  that  stole  upon  her. 
Though  the  sun  was  warm,  the  air  was  keen,  and,  hot 
with  climbing,  she  turned  her  face  to  it,  and  drank  in 
its  refreshing  with  delight.  Another  sense  than  that  of 
rest  awoke  in  her;  now  first  in  her  life  the  sense  of 
absolute  loneliness  began  to  possess  her  —  and  it  dif- 
fered from  her  expectation  of  it.  She  looked  around ; 
not  a  trace  of  humanity  was  visible  —  nothing  but 
brown  and  gray  and  green  hills,  with  the  clear  sky  over 


MEKCY   CALLS    ON    GEANNY.  345 

her  head,  and  in  the  north  a  black  cloud  creeping  up 
from  the  horizon.  And  therewith  suddenly  descended 
upon  her  a  something  she  had  never  known  —  did  not 
now  know ;  it  was  as  if  the  loneliness,  or  what  is  the 
same  thing,  the  presence  of  her  own  being  without  an- 
other to  qualify  and  make  it  reasonable  and  endurable, 
seized  and  held  her.  The  silence  gathered  substance, 
grew  as  it  were  solid,  and  closing  upon  her,  imprisoned 
her.  Was  it  not  rather  that  the  Soul  of  Nature,  unpre- 
vented,  unthwarted  by  distracting  influences,  found  a 
freer  entrance  to  hers,  but  she,  not  yet  in  harmony  with 
it,  felt  its  contact  as  alien  —  as  bondage  therefore  and 
not  liberty  ?  She  was  nearer  than* ever  she  had  been 
to  knowing  the  presence  of  the  God  who  is  always 
nearer  to  us  than  aught  else.  Yea,  something  seemed, 
through  the  very  persistence  of  its  silence,  to  say  to  her 
at  last,  and  keep  saying,  "  Here  I  am !  "  She  looked 
behind  her  in  sudden  terror :  no  form  was  there.  She 
sent  out  her  gaze  to  the  horizon  :  the  huge  waves  of  the 
solid  earth  stood  up  against  the  sky,  sinking  so  slowly 
she  could  not  see  them  sink :  they  stood  mouldering 
away,  biding  their  time.  They  were  of  those  "who 
only  stand  and  wait,"  fulfilling  the  will  of  him  who  set 
them  to  crumble  till  the  hour  of  the  new  heavens  and 
the  new  earth  arrive.  There  was  no  life  visible  between 
her  and  the  great  silent  mouldering  hills.  On  her 
right  hand  lay  a  blue  segment  of  the  ever  restless  sea, 
but  so  far  that  its  commotion  seemed  a  yet  deeper  rest 
than  that  of  the  immovable  hills. 

She  sat  and  sat,  but  nothing  came,  nothing  seemed 
coming  to  her.  The  hope  Ian  had  given  her  was  not 
to  be  fulfilled !  For  her  there  was  no  revelation !  She 
was  not  of  the  kind  Nature  could  speak  to ! 

She  began  to  grow  uncomfortable  —  to  feel  as  if  she 


346  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

had  done  something  wrong  —  as  if  she  was  a  child  put 
into  the  corner  —  a  corner  of  the  great  universe,  to 
learn  to  be  sorry  for  something.  Certainly  something 
was  wrong  with  her  —  but  what?  Why  did  she  feel 
so  uncomfortable  ?  Was  she  so  silly  as  to  mind  being 
alone?  There  was  nothing  in  these  mountains  that 
would  hurt  her!  The  red  deer  were  sometimes  dan- 
gerous, but  none  were  even  within  sight !  Yet  some- 
thing like  fear  was  growing  in  her !  Why  should  she 
be  afraid?  Everything  about  her  certainly  did  look 
strange,  as  if  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  it  had 
nothing  to  do  with  her ;  but  that  was  all !  Ian  Macruadh 
must  be  wrong !  How  could  there  be  any  such  bond 
as  he  said  between  Nature  and  the  human  heart,  when 
the  first  thing  she  felt  when  alone  with  her,  was  fear ! 
The  world  was  staring  at  her !  She  was  the  centre  of 
a  fixed,  stony  regard  from  all  sides !  The  earth,  and 
the  sea,  and  the  sky,  were  watching  her !  She  did  not 
like  it !  She  would  rise  and  shake  off  the  fancy !  But 
she  did  not  rise ;  something  held  her  to  her  thinking. 
Just  so,  she  would,  when  a  child  in  the  dark,  stand 
afraid  to  move  lest  the  fear  itself,  lying  in  wait  like  a 
tigress,  should  at  her  first  motion  pounce  upon  her. 
The  terrible,  persistent  silence !  —  would  nothing  break 
it!  And  there  was  in  herself  a  response  to  it  —  some- 
thing that  was  in  league  with  it,  and  kept  telling  her 
that  things  were  not  all  right  with  her ;  that  she  ought 
not  to  be  afraid  yet  had  good  reason  for  being  afraid ; 
that  she  knew  of  no  essential  safety.  There  must  be 
some  refuge,  some  impregnable  hiding-place,  for  the 
thing  was  a  necessity,  and  she  ought  to  know  of  it! 
There  must  be  a  human  condition  of  never  being  afraid, 
of  knowing  nothing  to  be  afraid  of !  She  wondered 
whether,  if  she  were  quite  good,  went  to  church  twice 


MERCY    CALLS    ON    GRANNY.  347 

every  Sunday,  and  read  her  bible  every  morning,  she 
would  come  not  to  be  afraid  of  —  she  did  not  know 
what.  It  would  be  grand  to  have  no  fear  of  person  or 
thing !  She  was  sometimes  afraid  of  her  own  father, 
even  when  she  knew  no  reason  !  How  that  mountain 
with  the  horn  kept  staring  at  her ! 

It  was  all  nonsense !  She  was  silly  !  She  would  get 
up  and  go  home :  it  must  be  time  ! 

But  things  were  not  as  they  should  be !  Something 
was  required  of  her !  Was  it  God  wanting  her  to  do 
something?  She  had  never  thought  whether  he  re- 
quired anything  of  her!  She  must  be  a  better  girl! 
Then  she  would  have  God  with  her,  and  not  be  afraid ! 

And  all  the  time  it  was  God  near  her  that  was  mak- 
ing her  unhappy.  For,  as  the  Son  of  Man  came  not  to 
send  peace  on  the  earth  but  a  sword,  so  the  first  visit 
of  God  to  the  human  soul  is  generally  in  a  cloud  of 
fear  and  doubt,  rising  from  the  soul  itself  at  his  ap- 
proach. The  sun  is  the  cloud-dispeller,  yet  often  he 
must  look  through  a  fog  if  he  would  visit  the  earth  at 
all.  The  child,  not  being  a  son,  does  not  know  his 
father.  He  may  know  he  is  what  is  called  a  father ; 
what  the  word  means  he  does  not  know.  How  then 
should  he  understand  when  the  father  comes  to  deliver 
him  from  his  paltry  self,  and  give  him  life  indeed  ? 

She  tried  to  pray.  She  said,  "  Oh  God !  forgive  me, 
and  make  me  good.  I  want  to  be  good  ! "  Then  she 
rose. 

She  went  some  little  way  without  thinking  where  she 
was  going,  and  then  found  she  did  not  even  know  from 
what  direction  she  had  come.  A  sharp  new  fear  shot 
through  her  heart :  quite  different  from  the  former,  now 
she  was  lost !  She  had  told  no  one  she  was  going  any- 
where !  No  one  would  have  a  notion  where  to  look  for 


348  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

her !  She  had  been  beginning  to  feel  hungry,  but  fear 
drove  hunger  away.  All  she  knew  was  that  she  must  not 
stay  there.  Here  was  nowhere ;  walking  on  she  might 
come  somewhere  —  that  is,  among  human  beings !  So 
out  she  set  on  her  weary  travel  from  nowhere  to  some- 
where, giving  Nature  little  thanks.  She  did  not  suspect 
that  her  grandmother  had  been  doing  anything  for  her, 
by  the  space  around  her,  or  that  now,  by  the  trackless- 
ness,  the  lostness,  she  was  doing  yet  more.  On  and  on 
she  walked,  climbing  the  one  hillside  and  descending 
the  other,  going  she  knew  not  whither,  hardly  hoping 
she  drew  one  step  nearer  home. 

All  at  once  her  strength  went  from  her.  She  sat 
down  and  cried.  But  with  the  tears  came  the  thought 
how  the  chief  and  his  brother  talked  of  God.  She  had 
heard  in  church  that  men  ought  to  cry  to  God  in  their 
troubles.  Broken  verses  of  a  certain  psalm  came  to 
her,  saying  God  delivered  those  who  cried  to  him  from 
things  even  they  had  brought  on  themselves,  and  she 
had  been  doing  nothing  wrong !  She  tried  to  trust  in 
him,  but  could  not :  he  was  as  far  from  her  as  the  blue 
heavens  !  True,  it  bent  over  all,  but  its  one  great  eye 
was  much  too  large  to  see  the  trouble  she  was  in! 
What  did  it  matter  to  the  blue  sky  if  she  fell  down  and 
withered  up  to  bones  and  dust !  She  well  might  —  for 
here  no  foot  of  man  might  pass  till  she  was  a  thing  ter- 
rible to  look  at !  If  there  was  nobody  where  seemed  to 
be  nothing,  how  fearfully  empty  was  the  universe  !  Ah, 
if  she  had  God  for  her  friend!  what  if  he  was  her 
friend,  and  she  had  not  known  it  because  she  never 
spoke  to  him,  never  asked  him  to  do  anything  for  her? 
It  was  horrible  to  think  it  could  be  a  mere  chance 
whether  she  got  home,  or  died  there !  She  would  pray 
to  God !  She  would  ask  him  to  take  her  home ! 


MERCY    CALLS    ON    GRANNY.  349 

A  wintery  blast  came  from  the  north.  The  black 
cloud  had  risen,  and  was  now  spreading  over  the  zenith. 
Again  the  wind  came  with  an  angry  burst  and  snarl. 
Snow  came  swept  upon  it  in  hard  sharp  little  pellets. 
She  started  up,  and  forgot  to  pray. 

Some  sound  in  the  wind  or  some  hidden  motion  of 
memory  all  at  once  let  loose  upon  her  another  fear, 
which  straight  was  agony.  A  rumor  had  reached  the 
"New  House  the  night  before,  that  a  leopard  had  broken 
from  a  caravan,  and  got  away  to  the  hills.  It  was  but 
a  rumor  ;  some  did  not  believe  it,  and  the  owners  con- 
tradicted it,  but  a  party  had  set  out  with  guns  and  dogs. 
It  was  true  !  it  was  true !  There  was  the  terrible  creat- 
ure crouching  behind  that  stone  !  He  was  in  every 
clump  of  heather  she  passed,  swinging  his  tail,  and 
ready  to  spring  upon  her !  He  must  be  hungry  by  this 
time,  and  there  was  nothing  there  for  him  to  eat  but 
her!  By  and  by,  however,  she  was  too  cold  to  be 
afraid,  too  cold  to  think,  and  presently,  half  frozen,  and 
faint  for  lack  of  food,  was  scarce  able  to  go  a  step 
farther.  She  saw  a  great  rock,  sank  down  in  the  shelter 
of  it,  and  in  a  minute  was  asleep. 

She  slept  for  some  time,  and  woke  a  little  refreshed. 
The  wonder  is  that  she  woke  at  all.  It  was  dark,  and 
her  first  consciousness  was  ghastly  fear.  The  wind 
had  ceased,  and  the  storm  was  over.  Little  snow  had 
fallen.  The  stars  were  all  out  overhead,  and  the  great 
night  was  round  her,  enclosing,  watching  her.  She  tried 
to  rise,  and  could  just  move  her  limbs.  Had  she  fallen 
asleep  again,  she  would  not  have  lived  through  the 
night.  But  it  is  idle  to  talk  of  what  would  have  been ; 

O  ' 

nothing  could  have  been  but  what  was.  Mercy  won- 
dered afterwards  that  she  did  not  lose  her  reason.  She 
must,  she  thought,  have  been  trusting  somehow  in  God. 


350  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

It  was  terribly  dreary.  Sure  never  one  sorer  needed 
God's  help  !  And  what  better  reason  could  there  be 
for  helping  her  than  that  she  so  sorely  needed  it !  Per- 
haps God  had  let  her  walk  into  this  trouble  that  she 
might  learn  she  could  not  do  without  him  !  She  would 
try  to  be  good  !  How  terrible  was  the  world,  with  such 
wide  spaces  and  nobody  in  them  ! 

And  all  the  time,  though  she  did  not  know  it,  she 
was  sobbing  and  weeping. 

The  black  silence  was  torn  asunder  by  the  report  of 
a  gun.  She  started  up  with  a  strange  mingling  of  hope 
and  terror,  gave  a  loud  cry,  and  sank  senseless.  The 
leopard  would  be  upon  her ! 

Her  cry  was  her  deliverance. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

IN   THE    TOMB. 

brothers  had  that  same  morning  paid  their  visit 
-L  to  the  tomb,  and  there  spent  the  day  after  their 
usual  fashion,  intending  to  go  home  the  same  night, 
and  as  the  old  moon  was  very  late  in  rising,  to  take  the 
earlier  and  rougher  part  of  the  way  in  the  twilight. 
Just  as  they  were  setting  out,  however,  what  they 
rightly  judged  a  passing  storm  came  on,  and  they  de- 
layed their  departure.  By  the  time  the  storm  was 
over,  it  was  dark,  and  there  was  no  use  in  hurrying; 
they  might  as  well  stop  a  while,  and  have  the  moon 
the  latter  part  of  the  way.  When  at  length  they  were 
again  on  the  point  of  starting,  they  thought  they  heard 
something  like  sounds  of  distress,  but  the  darkness 
making  search  difficult,  and  unsatisfactory,  the  chief 
thought  of  firing  his  gun,  when  Mercy's  cry  guided 
them  to  where  she  lay.  Alister's  heart  nearly  stood 
still  at  sight  of  her,  and,  at  the  thought  of  what  she 
must  have  gone  through.  They  carried  her  in,  laid  her 
on  the  bed,  and  did  what  they  could  to  restore  her,  till 
she  began  to  come  to  herself.  Then  they  left  her,  that 
she  might  not  see  them  without  preparation,  and  sat 
down  by  the  fire  in  the  outer  room,  leaving  the  door 
open  between  the  two. 

"  I  see  how  it  is !  "  said  Alister.     "  You  remember, 
Ian,  what  you  said  to  her  about  giving  nature  an  oppor- 
tunity of  exerting  her  influence  ?    Mercy  has  been  fol- 
351 


352  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

lowing  your  advice,  and  has  lost  her  way  among  the 
hills!" 

"  That  was  so  long  ago ! "  returned  Ian  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes  —  when  the  weather  was  not  fit  for  it.  It  is 
not  fit  now,  but  she  has  ventured  ! " 

"  I  believe  you  are  right !  I  thought  there  was  some 
reality  in  her !  —  But  she  must  not  hear  us  talking 
about  her ! " 

When  Mercy  came  to  herself,  she  thought  at  first 
that  she  lay  where  she  had  fallen,  but  presently  per- 
ceived that  she  was  covered,  and  had  something  hot  at 
her  feet :  was  she  in  her  own  bed  ?  was  it  all  a  terrible 
dream,  that  she  might  know  what  it  was  to  be  lost,  and 
think  of  God!  She  put  out  her  arm:  her  hand  went 
against  cold  stone.  The  dread  thought  rushed  in  — 
that  she  was  buried  —  was  lying  in  her  grave  —  to  lie 
there  till  the  trumpet  should  sound,  and  the  dead  be 
raised.  She  was  not  horrified ;  her  first  feeling  was 
gladness  that  she  had  prayed  before  she  died.  She  had 
been  taught  at  church  that  an  hour  might  come  when  it 
would  be  of  no  use  to  pray  —  the  hour  of  an  unbeliev- 
ing death  :  was  it  of  no  use  to  pray  now,  but  her  prayer 
before  she  died  might  be  of  some  avail !  She  wondered 
that  she  was  not  more  frightened,  for  in  sooth  it  was  a 
dreary  prospect  before  her :  long  and  countless  years 
must  pass  ere  again  she  heard  the  sound  of  voices,  again 
saw  the  light  of  the  sun !  She  was  half  awake  and  half 
dreaming ;  the  faintness  of  her  swoon  yet  upon  her,  the 
repose  following  her  great  weariness,  and  the  lightness 
of  her  brain  from  want  of  food,  made  her  indifferent 
—  almost  happy.  She  could  lie  so  a  long  time  she 
thought. 

At  length  she  began  to  hear  sounds,  and  they  were  of 
human  voices.  She  had  companions  then  in  the  grave ! 


THE    TOMB.  353 


she  was  not  doomed  to  a  solitary  waiting  for  judgment! 
She  must  be  in  some  family;  vault  among  strangers ! 
She  hoped  they  were  nice  people  :  it  was  very  desirable 
to  be  buried  with  nice  people ! 

Then  she  saw  a  reddish  light.  It  was  a  fire  —  far 
off !  Was  she  in  the  bad  place  ?  Were  those  shapes 
two  demons,  waiting  till  she  had  got  over  her  dying  ? 
She  listened :  — "  That  will  divide  her  between  us,"  said 
one.  "Yes,"  answered  the  other;  "there  will  be  no 
occasion  to  cut  it !  "  What  dreadful  thing  could  they 
mean  ?  But  surely  she  had  heard  their  voices  before  ! 
She  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not. 

"  We  must  come  again  soon  ! "  said  one.  "  At  this 
rate  it  wrill  take  a  life-time  to  carve  the  tomb." 

"  If  we  were  but  at  the  roof  of  it !  "  said  the  other. 
"I  long  to  tackle  the  great  serpent  of  eternity,  and  lay 
him  twining  and  coiling  and  undulating  all  over  it !  I 
dream  about  those  tombs  before  ever  they  were  broken 
into  —  royally  furnished  in  the  dark,  waiting  for  the 
souls  to  come  back  to  their  old,  brown,  dried  up 
bodies ! " 

Here  one  of  them  rose  and  came  towards  her  grow- 
ing bigger  and  blacker  as  he  came,  until  he  stood  by 
the  bedside.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  wrist,  and  felt 
her  pulse.  It  was  Ian !  She  could  not  see  his  face  for 
there  was  no  light  on  it,  but  she  knew  his  shape,  his 
movements !  She  was  saved ! 

He  saw  her  wide  eyes,  two  great  spiritual  nights, 
gazing  up  at  him. 

"  Ah,  you  are  better,  Miss  Mercy ! "  he  said  cheerily. 
"  Now  you  shall  have  some  tea  !  " 

Something  inside  her  was  weeping  for  joy,  but  her 
outer  self  was  quite  still.  She  tried  again  to  speak,  »and 
uttered  only  a  few,  inarticulate  sounds.  Then  came 


354  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

Alister  on  tiptoe,  and  they  stood  both  by  the  bed-side, 
looking  down  on  her. 

"  I  shall  be  all  right  presently ! "  she  managed  at 
length  to  say.  "  I'm  so  glad  I'm  not  dead  !  I  thought 
I  was  dead ! " 

"  You  would  soon  have  been  if  we  had  not  found 
you  !  "  replied  Alister. 

"  Was  it  you  that  fired  the  gun  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I  was  so  frightened  ! " 

"  It  saved  your  life,  thank  God  !  for  then  you  cried 
out." 

"  Fright  was  your  door  out  of  fear  !  "  said  Ian. 

"  I  thought  it  was  the  leopard  !  " 

"  I  did  bring  my  gun  because  of  the  leopard,"  said 
Alister. 

"  It  was  true  about  him  then  ?  " 

"  He  is  out." 

"  And  now  it  is  quite  dark." 

"  It  doesn't  signify  ;  we'll  take  a  lantern  ;  I've  got  my 
gun,  and  Ian  has  his  dirk  !  " 

"  Where  are  you  going  then  ? "  asked  Mercy,  still 
confused ! 

"  Home,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course  !    I  will  get  up  in  a  minute." 

"  There  is  plenty  of  time,"  said  Ian.  "  You  must  eat 
something  before  you  get  up.  We  have  nothing  but 
oatcakes,  I  am  sorry  to  say  ! " 

"  I  think  you  promised  me  some  tea,"  said  Mercy. 
"  I  don't  feel  hungry." 

"  You  shall  have  the  tea.     When  did  you  eat  last  ?  " 

"  Not  since  breakfast." 

"  It  is  a  marvel  you  are  able  to  speak !  You  must 
try  to  eat  some  oatcake." 


IN    THE    TOMB.  355 


"  I  wish  I  hadn't  taken  that  last  slice  of  deer-ham  !  " 
said  Alister  ruefully. 

"  I  will  eat  if  I  can,"  said  Mercy. 

They  brought  her  a  cup  of  tea  and  some  pieces  of  oat- 
cake ;  then,  having  lighted  her  a  candle,  they  left  her. 

She  sipped  her  tea,  managed  to  eat  a  little  of  the  dry 
but  wholesome  food,  and  found  herself  capable  of  get- 
ting up.  It  was  the  strangest  bedroom  !  she  thought. 
Everything  was  cut  out  of  the  live  rock.  The  dressing- 
table  might  have  been  a  sarcophagus !  She  kneeled  by 
the  bedside  and  tried  to  thank  God.  Then  she  opened 
the  door.  The  chief  rose  at  the  sound  of  it. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  "  that  we  have  no  woman  to 
wait  on  you." 

"  I  want  nothing,  thank  you ! "  answered  Mercy, 
feeling  very  weak  and  ready  to  cry,  but  restraining  her 
tears.  "  What  a  curious  house  this  is ! " 

"  It  is  a  sort  of  doll's  house  my  brother  and  I  have 
been  at  work  upon  for  nearly  fifteen  years.  We  meant, 
when  summer  was  come,  to  ask  you  all  to  spend  a  day 
with  us  up  here." 

"  When  first  we  went  to  work  on  it,"  said  Ian,  "  we 
used  to  tell  each  other  tales  in  which  it  bore  a  large 
share,  and  Alister's  were  generally  about  a  lost  princess 
taking  refuge  in  it !  " 

"  And  now  it  is  come  true !  "  said  Alister. 

"  What  an  escape  I  have  had  !  " 

"  I  do  not  like  to  hear  you  say  that ! "  returned  Ian. 
"  You  have  been  taken  care  of  all  the  time.  If  you 
had  died  in  the  cold,  it  would  not  have  been  because 
God  had  forgotten  you ;  you  would  not  have  been  lost." 

"  I  wanted  to  know,"  said  Mercy,  "  whether  Nature 
would  speak  to  me.  It  was  of  no  use!  She  never 
came  near  me  ! " 


356  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  I  think  she  must  have  come  without  your  knowing 
her,"  answered  Ian.  "  But  we  shall  have  a  talk  about 
that  afterward,  when  you  are  quite  rested ;  we  must 
prepare  for  home  now." 

Mercy's  heart  sank  within  her  —  she  felt  so  weak  and 
sleepy !  How  was  she  to  go  back  over  all  that  rough  moun- 
tain-way !  But  she  dared  not  ask  to  be  left  —  with  the 
leopard  about !  He  might  come  down  the  chimney  ! 

She  soon  found  that  the  brothers  had  never  thought 
of  her  walking.  They  wrapt  her  in  lan's  plaid.  Then 
they  took  the  chief's,  which  was  very  strong,  and  hav- 
ing folded  it  twice  lengthwise,  drew  each  an  end  of  it 
over  his  shoulders,  letting  it  hang  in  a  loop  between 
them :  in  this  loop  they  made  her  seat  herself,  and  put- 
ting each  an  arm  behind  her,  tried  how  they  could  all 
get  on.  After  a  few  shiftings  and  accommodations, 
they  found  the  plan  likely  to  answer.  So  they  locked 
the  door,  and  left  the  fire  glowing  on  the  solitary 
hearth. 

To  Mercy  it  was  the  strangest  journey  —  an  experi- 
ence never  to  be  forgotten.  The  tea  had  warmed  her, 
and  the  air  revived  her.  It  was  not  very  cold,  for  only 
now  and  then  blew  a  little  puff  of  wind.  The  stars 
were  brilliant  overhead,  and  the  wide  void  of  the  air  be- 
tween her  and  the  earth  below  seemed  full  of  wonder 
and  mystery.  Now  and  then  she  fancied  some  distant 
sound  the  cry  of  the  leopard  :  he  might  be  coming 
nearer  and  nearer  as  they  went !  but  it  rather  added  to 
the  strange  pleasure  of  the  night,  making  it  like  a  terri- 
ble story  read  in  the  deserted  nursery,  with  the  distant 
noise  outside  of  her  brothers  and  sisters  at  play.  The 
motion  of  her  progress  by  and  by  became  pleasant  to 
her.  Sometimes  her  feet  would  brush  the  tops  of  the 
heather ;  but  when  they  came  to  rocky  ground,  they 


IN    THE    TOMB.  357 


always  shortened  the  loop  of  the  plaid.  To  Mercy's 
inner  ear  came  the  sound  of  words  she  had  heard  at 
church :  "  He  shall  give  his  angels  charge  over  thee, 
and  in  their  hands  they  shall  bear  thee  up,  lest  at  any 
time  thou  dash  thy  foot  against  a  stone."  Were  not 
these  two  men  God's  own  angels ! 

They  scarcely  spoke,  except  when  they  stopped  to 
take  breath,  but  went  on  and  on  with  a  steady, 
rhythmic,  silent  trudge.  Up  and  down  the  rough  hill, 
and  upon  the  hardly  less  rough  hill-road,  they  had 
enough  ado  to  heed  their  steps.  Now  and  then  they 
would  let  her  walk  a  little  way,  but  not  far.  She  was 
neither  so  strong  nor  so  heavy  as  a  fat  deer,  they  said. 

They  were  yet  high  among  the  hills,  when  the  pale, 
withered,  wasted  shred  of  the  old  moon  rose  above  the 
upheaved  boat-like  back  of  one  of  the  battlements  of 
the  horizon-rampart.  With  disconsolate  face,  now  lost, 
now  found  again,  always  reappearing  where  Mercy  had 
not  been  looking  for  her,  she  accompanied  them  the 
rest  of  their  journey,  and  the  witch-like  creature 
brought  out  the  whole  character  of  the  night.  Rocked 
in  her  wonderful  swing,  Mercy  was  not  quite  sure  that 
she  was  not  dreaming  the  strangest,  pleasantest  dream. 
Were  they  not  fittest  for  a  dream,  this  star  and  moon 
beset  night  —  this  wind  that  now  and  then  blew  so 
eerie  and  wild,  yet  did  not  wake  her  —  this  gulf  around, 
above,  and  beneath  her,  through  which  she  was  borne  as 
if  she  had  indeed  died,  and  angels  were  carrying  her 
through  wastes  of  air  to  some  unknown  region  afar  ? 
Except  when  she  brushed  the  heather,  she  forgot  that 
the  earth  was  near  her.  The  arms  around  her  were  the 
arms  of  men  and  not  angels,  but  how  far  above  this 
lower  world  dwelt  the  souls  that  moved  those  strong 
limbs !  What  a  small  creature  she  was  beside  them ! 


358  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MIXE. 

how  unworthy  of  the  labor  of  their  deliverance  !  Her 
awe  of  the  one  kept  growing ;  the  other  she  could  trust 
with  heart  as  well  as  brain  ;  she  could  never  be  afraid 
of  him  !  To  the  chief  she  turned  to  shadow  her  from 
Ian. 

When  they  came  to  the  foot  of  the  path  leading  up 
to  Mistress  Conal's  cottage,  there,  although  it  was  dark 
night,  sat  the  old  woman  on  a  stone. 

"  It's  a  sorrow  you  are  carrying  home  with  you, 
chief ! "  she  said  in  Gaelic.  "  As  well  have  saved  a 
drowning  man ! " 

She  did  not  rise  or  move,  but  spoke  like  one  talking 
by  the  fireside. 

"  The  drowning  man  has  to  be  saved,  mother ! " 
answered  the  chief,  also  in  Gaelic ;  "  and  the  sorrow  in 
your  way  has  to  be  taken  with  you.  It  won't  let  you 
pass ! " 

"  True,  my  son  !  "  said  the  woman ;  "  but  it  makes 
the  heart  sore  that  sees  it !  " 

"  Thank  you  for  the  warning  then,  but  welcome  the 
sorrow  ! "  he  returned.  "  Good  night." 

"  Good  night,  chief's  sons  both !  You're  your  father's 
anyway  ! "  she  replied.  "  Did  he  not  one  night  bring 
home  a  frozen  fox  in  his  arms,  to  warm  him  by  his  fire  ! 
But  when  he  had  warmed  him  —  he  turned  him  out !  " 

It  was  quite  clear  when  last  they  looked  at  the  sky, 
but  the  moment  they  left  her,  it  began  to  rain  heavily. 

So  fast  did  it  rain,  that  the  men,  fearing  for  Mercy, 
turned  off  the  road,  and  went  down  a  steep  descent,  to 
make  straight  across  their  own  fields  for  the  cottage  ; 
and  just  as  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the  descent,  al- 
though they  had  come  all  the  rough  way  hitherto  with- 
out slipping  or  stumbling  once,  the  chief  fell.  He  rose 
in  consternation;  but  finding  that  Mercy,  upheld  by 


IN    THE    TOMB.  359 


Ian,  had  simply  dropped  on  her  feet,  and  taken  no  hurt, 
relieved  himself  by  unsparing  abuse  of  his  clumsiness. 
Mercy  laughed  merrily,  resumed  her  place  in  the  plaid, 
and  closed  her  eyes.  She  never  saw  where  they  were 
going,  for  she  opened  them  again  only  when  they 
stopped  a  little  as  they  turned  into  the  fir-clump  before 
the  door. 

"  Where  are  we  ?  "  she  asked ;  but  for  answer  they 
carried  her  straight  into  the  house. 

"We  have  brought  you  to  our  mother  instead  of 
yours,"  said  Alister.  "  To  get  wet  would  have  been 
the  last  straw  on  the  back  of  such  a  day.  We  will  let 
them  know  at  once  that  you  are  safe." 

Lady  Macruadh,  as  the  highlanders  generally  called 
her,  made  haste  to  receive  the  poor  girl  with  that  sym- 
pathetic pity  which,  of  all  good  plants,  flourishes  most  in 
the  Celtic  heart.  Her  mother  had  come  to  her  in  con- 
sternation at  her  absence,  and  the  only  comfort  she 
could  give  her  was  the  suggestion  that  she  had  fallen 
in  with  her  sons.  She  gave  her  a  warm  bath,  put  her 
to  bed,  and  then  made  her  eat,  so  preparing  her  for  a 
healthful  sleep.  And  she  did  sleep,  but  dreamed  of  dark- 
ness and  snow  and  leopards. 

As  men  were  out  searching  in  all  directions,  Alister, 
while  Ian  went  to  the  New  House,  lighted  a  beacon  on 
the  top  of  the  old  castle  to  bring  them  back.  By  the 
time  Ian  had  persuaded  Mrs.  Palmer  to  leave  Mercy  in 
his  mother's  care  for  the  night,  it  was  blazing  beauti- 
fully. 

In  the  morning  it  was  found  that  Mercy  had  a  bad 
cold,  and  could  not  be  moved.  But  the  cottage,  small 
as  it  was,  had  more  than  one  guest-chamber,  and  Mrs. 
Macruadh  was  delighted  to  have  her  to  nurse. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

AT    A   HIGH    SCHOOL. 

WHEN  Mercy  was  able  to  go  down  to  the  drawing- 
room,  she  found  the  evenings  pass  as  evenings 
never  passed  before  ;  and  during  the  day,  although  her 
mother  and  Christina  came  often  to  see  her,  she  had 
time  and  quiet  for  thinking.  And  think  she  must,  for 
she  found  herself  in  a  region  of  human  life  so  different 
from  any  she  had  hitherto  entered,  that  in  no  other 
circumstances  would  she  have  been  able  to  recognize 
even  its  existence.  Everything  said  or  done  in  it 
seemed  to  acknowledge  something  understood.  Life 
went  on  with  a  continuous  lean  towards  something 
rarely  mentioned,  plainly  uppermost;  it  embodied  a 
tacit  reference  of  everything  to  some  code  so  thoroughly 
recognized  that  occasion  for  alluding  to  it  was  unfre- 
quent.  Its  inhabitants  appeared  to  know  things  which 
her  people  did  not  even  suspect.  The  air  of  the  brothers 
especially  was  that  of  men  at  their  ease  yet  ready  to 
rise  —  of  men  whose  loins  were  girded,  alert  for  an  ex- 
pected call. 

Under  their  influence  a  new  idea  of  life,  and  the 
world,  and  the  relations  of  men  and  things,  began  to 
grow  in  the  mind  of  Mercy.  There  was  a  dignity,  al- 
most grandeur,  about  the  simple  life  of  the  cottage,  and 
the  relation  of  its  inmates  to  all  they  came  near.  No 
one  of  them  seemed  to  live  for  self,  but  each  to  be 
thinking  and  caring  for  the  others  and  for  the  clan. 
360 


AT    A    HIGH    SCHOOL.  361 

She  awoke  to  see  that  manners  are  of  the  soul ;  that 
such  as  she  had  hitherto  heard  admired  were  not  to  be 
compared  with  the  simple,  almost  peasant-like  dignity 
and  courtesy  of  the  chief ;  that  the  natural  grace,  ac- 
customed ease,  and  cultivated  refinement  of  lan's  car- 
riage, while  his  words,  his  gesture,  his  looks,  came  out 
in  attention  and  service  to  the  lowly  even  more  than 
in  converse  with  his  equals ;  every  expression  born  of 
contact,  witnessed  a  directness  and  delicacy  of  recogni- 
tion she  could  never  have  imagined.  The  moment  he 
began  to  speak  to  another,  he  seemed  to  pass  out  of 
himself,  and  sit  in  the  ears  of  the  other  to  watch  his 
own  words,  lest  his  thoughts  should  take  such  sound  or 
shape  as  might  render  them  unwelcome,  or  weak.  If 
they  were  not  to  be  pleasant  words,  they  should  yet  be 
no  more  unpleasant  than  was  needful ;  they  should  not 
hurt  save  in  the  nature  of  that  which  they  bore  ;  the 
truth  should  receive  no  injury  by  admixture  of  his  per- 
sonality. He  heard  with  his  own  soul,  and  was  careful 
over  the  other  soul  as  one  of  like  kind.  So  delicately 
would  he  initiate  what  might  be  communion  with  an- 
other, that  to  a  nature  too  dull  or  selfish  to  understand 
him,  he  gave  offence  by  the  very  graciousness  of  his 
approach. 

It  was  through  her  growing  love  to  Alister  that 
Mercy  became  able  to  understand  Ian,  and  perceived 
at  length  that  her  dread,  almost  dislike  of  him  at  first, 
was  owing  solely  to  her  mingled  incapacity  and  un- 
worthiness.  Before  she  left  the  cottage,  it  was  spring 
time  in  her  soul ;  it  had  begun  to  put  forth  the  buds  of 
eternal  life.  Such  buds  are  not  unfrequently  nipped ; 
but  even  if  they  are,  if  a  dull,  false,  commonplace  frost 
close  in,  and  numb  the  half-wakened  spirit  back  into  its 
wintry  sleep,  that  sleep  will  ever  after  be  haunted  with 


362  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

some  fainting  airs  of  the  paradise  those  buds  prophe- 
sied. In  Mercy's  case  they  were  to  grow  into  spiritual 
eyes  —  to  open  and  see  through  all  the  fogs  and  tu- 
mults of  this  phantom  world,  the  light  and  reality  of  the 
true,  the  spiritual  world  everywhere  around  her —  as  the 
opened  eyes  of  the  prophet  saw  the  mountains  of  Sa- 
maria full  of  horses  of  fire  and  chariots  of  fire  around 
him.  Every  throb  of  true  love,  however  mingled  with 
the  foolish  and  the  false,  is  a  bourgeoning  of  the  buds 
of  life  eternal  —  ah,  how  far  from  leaves  !  how  much 
farther  from  flowers ! 

Ian  was  high  above  her,  so  high  that  she  shrank  from 
him ;  there  seemed  a  whole  heaven  of  height  between 
them.  It  would  fill  her  with  a  kind  of  despair  to  see 
him  at  times  sit  lost  in  thought:  he  was  where  she 
could  never  follow  him  !  He  was  in  a  world  which,  to 
her  childish  thought,  seemed  not  the  world  of  humanity ; 
and  she  would  turn,  with  a  sense  of  both  seeking  and 
finding,  to  the  chief.  She  imagined  he  felt  as  she  did, 
saw  between  his  brother  and  him  a  gulf  he  could  not 
cross.  She  did  not  perceive  this  difference,  that  Alis- 
ter  knew  the  gulf  had  to  be  crossed.  At  such  a  time, 
too,  she  had  seen  his  mother  regarding  him  with  a  sim- 
ilar expression  of  loss,  but  with  a  mingling  of  anxiety 
that  was  hers  only.  It  was  sweet  to  Mercy  to  see  in 
the  eyes  of  Alister,  and  in  his  whole  bearing  towards 
his  younger  brother,  that  he  was  a  learner  like  herself, 
that  they  were  scholars  together  in  lan's  school. 

A  hunger  after  something  beyond  her,  a  something 
she  could  not  have  described,  awoke  in  her.  She  needed 
a  salvation  of  some  kind,  towards  which  she  must  grow. 
She  needed  a  change  which  she  could  not  understand 
until  it  comes  —  a  change  the  greatest  in  the  universe, 
but  which,  man  being  created  with  the  absolute  neces- 


AT    A   HIGH    SCHOOL.  363 

sity  for  it,  can  be  no  violent  transformation  ;  can  be 
only  a  grand  process  in  the  divine  idea  of  develop- 
ment. 

She  began  to  feel  a  mystery  in  the  world,  and  in  all 
the  looks  of  it  —  a  mystery  because  a  meaning.  She 
saw  a  jubilance  in  every  sunrise,  a  sober  sadness  in 
every  sunset ;  heard  a  whispering  of  strange  secrets  in 
the  wind  of  the  twilight ;  perceived  a  consciousness  of 
unknown  bliss  in  the  song  of  the  lark; — and  was 
aware  of  a  something  beyond  it  all,  now  and  then  fill- 
ing her  with  wonder,  and  compelling  her  to  ask,  "  What 
does  it,  what  can  it  mean  ?  "  Not  once  did  she  suspect 
that  Nature  had  indeed  begun  to  deal  with  her;  not 
once  suspect,  although  from  childhood  accustomed  to 
hear  the  name  of  Love  taken  in  vain,  that  love  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  these  inexplicable  experiences. 

Let  no  one,  however,  imagine  he  explains  such  ex- 
periences by  suggesting  that  she  was  in  love !  That 
were  but  to  mention  another  mystery  as  having  intro- 
duced the  former.  For  who  in  heaven  or  in  earth  has 
fathomed  the  marvel  betwixt  the  man  and  the  woman  ? 
Least  of  all  the  man  or  woman  who  has  not  learned  to 
regard  it  with  reverence.  There  is  more  in  this  love 
to  uplift  us,  more  to  condemn  the  lie  in  us,  than  in  any 
other  inborn  drift  of  our  being.  From  it  flow  all  the 
other  redeeming  relations  of  life.  It  is  the  hold  God 
has  of  us  with  his  right  hand,  while  death  is  the  hold 
he  has  of  us  with  his  left.  Love  and  death  are  the  two 
marvels,  yea  the  two  terrors  —  but  the  one  goal  of  our 
history. 

It  was  love,  in  part,  that  now  awoke  in  Mercy  a 
hunger  and  thirst  after  heavenly  things.  This  is  a  di- 
rection of  its  power  little  heeded  by  its  historians; 
its  earthly  side  occupies  almost  all  their  care.  Because 


364  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

lovers  are  not  worthy  of  even  its  earthly  aspect,  it  palls 
upon  them,  and  they  grow  weary,  not  of  love,  but  of 
their  lack  of  it.  The  want  of  the  heavenly  in  it  has 
caused  it  to  perish :  it  had  no  salt.  From  those  that 
have  not  is  taken  away  that  which  they  have.  Love 
without  religion  is  the  plucked  rose.  Religion  without 
love  —  there  is  no  such  thing.  Religion  is  the  bush 
that  bears  all  the  roses ;  for  religion  is  the  natural  con- 

'  Q 

dition  of  man  in  relation  to  the  eternal  facts,  that  is  the 
truths,  of  his  own  being.  To  live  is  to  love ;  there  is 
no  life  but  love.  What  shape  the  love  puts  on,  depends 
on  the  persons  between  whom  is  the  relation.  The 
poorest  love  with  religion,  is  better,  because  truer, 
therefore  more  lasting,  more  genuine,  more  endowed 
with  the  possibility  of  persistence  —  that  is,  of  infinite 
development,  than  the  most  passionate  devotion  be- 
tween man  and  woman  without  it. 

Thus  together  in  their  relation  to  Ian,  it  was  natural 
that  Mercy  and  the  chief  should  draw  yet  more  to  each 
other.  Mercy  regarded  Alister  as  a  big  brother  in  the 
same  class  with  herself,  but  able  to  help  her.  Quickly 
they  grew  intimate.  In  the  simplicity  of  his  large  na- 
ture, the  chief  talked  with  Mercy  as  openly  as  a  boy, 
laying  a  heart  bare  to  her  such  that,  if  the  world  had 
many  like  it,  the  kingdom  of  heaven  would  be  more 
than  at  hand.  He  talked  as  to  an  old  friend  in  perfect 
understanding  with  him,  from  whom  he  had  nothing  to 
gain  or  to  fear.  There  was  never  a  compliment  on  the 
part  of  the  man,  and  never  a  coquetry  on  the  part  of 
the  girl  —  a  dull  idea  to  such  as,  without  compliment 
or  coquetry  could  hold  no  intercourse,  having  no  other 
available  means.  Mercy  had  never  like  her  sister,  cul- 
tivated the  woman's  part  in  the  low  game;  and  her 
truth  required  but  the  slightest  stimulus  to  make  her 


AT   A   HIGH    SCHOOL.  365 

incapable  of  it.  With  such,  a  man  as  Alister  she  could 
use  only  a  simplicity  like  his ;  not  thus  to  meet  him 
would  have  been  to  decline  the  honoring  friendship. 
Dark  and  plain,  though  with  an  interesting  face  and 
fine  eyes,  she  had  received  no  such  compliments  as  had 
been  showered  upon  her  sister;  it  was  an  unspoiled 
girl,  with  a  heart  alive  though  not  yet  awake,  that  was 
brought  under  such  good  influences.  Nor  do  I  know 
better  influences  under  which  she  could  have  been 
brought.  What  better  influences  for  her,  for  any  wo- 
man, than  those  of  unselfish  men?  what  influences  so 
good  for  any  man  as  those  of  unselfish  women  ?  Every 
man  that  hears  and  learns  of  a  worthy  neighbor,  comes 
to  the  Father ;  every  man  that  hath  heard  and  learned 
of  the  Father  comes  to  the  Lord;  every  man  that 
comes  to  the  Lord,  he  leads  back  to  the  Father.  To 
hear  Ian  speak  one  word  about  Jesus  Christ,  was 
for  a  true  man  to  be  thenceforth  truer.  To  him 
the  Lord  was  not  a  theological  personage,  but  a 
man  present  in  the  world,  who  had  to  be  understood 
and  obeyed  by  the  will  and  heart  and  soul,  by  the 
imagination  and  conscience  of  every  other  man.  If 
what  Ian  said  was  true,  this  life  was  a  serious  affair,  to 
be  lived  in  downright  earnest !  If  God  would  have  his 
creatures  mind  him,  she  must  look  to  it !  She  pondered 
what  she  heard.  But  she  went  always  to  Alister  to 
have  Ian  explained ;  and  to  hear  him  talk  of  Ian,  re- 
vealed Alister  to  her. 

When  Mercy  left  the  cottage,  she  felt  as  if  she  were 
leaving  home  to  pay  a  visit.  The  rich  house  was  dull 
and  uninteresting.  She  found  that  she  had  immediately 
to  put  in  practice  one  of  the  lessons  she  had  learned 
—  that  the  service  of  God  is  the  service  of  those  among 
whom  he  has  sent  us.  She  tried  therefore  to  be  cheer- 


366  WHAT'S  MINE'S 


ful,  and  even  to  forestall  her  mother's  wishes.  But  life 
was  harder  than  hitherto  —  so  much  more  was  required 
of  her. 

The  chief  was  falling  thoroughly  in  love  with  Mercy, 
but  it  was  some  time  before  he  knew  it.  With  a  heart 
full  of  tenderness  towards  everything  human,  he  knew 
little  of  love  special,  and  was  gradually  sliding  into 
it  without  being  aware  of  it.  How  little  are  we  our 
own  !  Existence  is  decreed  us  ;  love  and  suffering  are 
appointed  us.  We  may  resist,  we  may  modify  ;  but  we 
cannot  help  loving,  and  we  cannot  help  dying.  We 
need  God  to  keep  us  from  hating.  Great  in  goodness, 
yea  absolutely  good,  God  must  be,  to  have  a  right  to 
make  us  —  to  compel  our  existence,  and  decree  its 
laws  !  Without  his  choice  the  chief  was  falling  in 
love.  The  woman  was  sent  him  ;  his  heart  opened  and 
took  her  in.  Relation  with  her  family  was  not  desira- 
ble, but  there  she  was!  Ian  saw,  but  said  nothing. 
His  mother  saw  it  too. 

"  Nothing  good  will  come  of  it  !  "  she  said,  with  a 
strong  feeling  of  unfitness  in  the  thing. 

"  Everything  will  come  of  it,  mother,  that  God  would 
have  come  of  it,"  answered  Ian.  "  She  is  an  honest, 
good  girl,  and  whatever  comes  of  it  must  be  good, 
whether  pleasant  or  not." 

The  mother  was  silent.  She  believed  in  God,  but 
not  so  thoroughly  as  to  abjure  the  exercise  of  a  subsi- 
diary providence  of  her  own.  The  more  people  trust 
in  God,  the  less  will  they  trust  their  own  judgments,  or 
interfere  with  the  ordering  of  events.  The  man  or  wo- 
man who  opposes  the  heart's  desire  of  another,  except 
in  aid  of  righteousness,  is  a  servant  of  Satan. 

"There  is  no  action  in  fretting,"  Ian  would  say, 
"  and  not  much  in  the  pondering  of  consequences.  True 


AT    A    HIGH    SCHOOL.  367 

action  is  the  doing  of  duty,  come  of  it  heartache,  defeat, 
or  success." 

"  You  are  a  fatalist,  Ian  !  "  said  his  mother  one  day. 

"  Mother,  I  am ;  the  will  of  God  is  my  fate ! "  an- 
swered Ian.  "  He  shall  do  with  me  what  he  pleases ; 
and  I  will  help  him ! " 

She  took  him  in  her  arms  and  kissed  him.  She  hoped 
God  would  not  be  strict  with  him,  for  might  not  the 
very  grandeur  of  his  character  be  rooted  in  rebellion  ? 
Might  not  some  figs  grow  on  some  thistles? 

At  length  came  the  paternal  summons  for  the  Pal- 
mers to  go  to  London.  For  a  month  the  families  had 
been  meeting  all  but  every  day.  The  chief  had  begun 
to  look  deep  into  the  eyes  of  the  girl,  as  if  searching 
there  for  some  secret  joy;  and  the  girl,  though  she 
drooped  her  long  lashes,  did  not  turn  her  head  away. 
And  now  separation,  like  death,  gave  her  courage,  and 
when  they  parted,  Mercy  not  only  sustained  Alister's 
look,  but  gave  him  such  a  look  in  return  that  he  felt  no 
need,  no  impulse  to  say  anything.  Their  souls  were 
satisfied,  for  they  knew  they  belonged  to  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A    TERRIBLE    DISCOVERY. 

SO  entirely  were  the  chief  and  his  family  out  of  the 
world,  that  they  had  not  yet  a  notion  of  the 
worldly  relations  of  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer.  But  the 
mother  thought  it  high  time  to  make  inquiry  as  to  his 
position  and  connections.  She  had  an  old  friend  in 
London,  the  wife  of  a  certain  vice-chancellor,  with  whom 
she  held  an  occasional  correspondence,  and  to  her  she 
wrote,  asking  if  she  knew  anything  of  the  family. 

Mrs.  Macruadh  was  nowise  free  from  the  worldiiness 
that  has  regard  to  the  world's  regard.  She  would  not 
have  been  satisfied  that  a  daughter-in-law  of  hers  should 
come  of  people  distinguished  for  goodness  and  great- 
ness of  soul,  if  they  were,  for  instance,  tradespeople. 
She  would  doubtless  have  preferred  the  daughter  of  an 
honest  man,  whatever  his  position,  to  the  daughter  of 
a  scoundrel,  even  if  he  chanced  to  be  a  duke ;  but  she 
would  not  have  been  content  with  the  most  distin- 
guished goodness  by  itself.  Walking  after  Jesus,  she 
would  have  drawn  to  the  side  of  Joanna  rather  than 
Martha  or  Mary ;  and  I  fear  she  would  have  conde- 
scended—  just  a  little  —  to  Mary  Magdalen:  repent- 
ance, however  perfect,  is  far  from  enough  to  satisfy 
the  holy  squeamishness  of  not  a  few  high-principled 
people  who  do  not  know  what  repentance  means. 

Mrs.  Macruadh  was  anxious  to  know  that  the  girl 
was  respectable,  and  so  far  worthy  of  her  son.  The 
368 


A    TERRIBLE    DISCOVERY.  369 

idea  of  such  an  inquiry  would  have  filled  JVIercy's  par- 
ents with  scornful  merriment,  as  a  thing  ludicrous  in- 
deed. People  in  their  position,  who  could  do  this  and 
that,  whose  name  stood  so  high  for  this  and  that,  who 
knew  themselves  well  bred,  who  had  one  relation  an 
admiral,  another  a  general,  and  a  marriage  connection 
with  some  of  the  oldest  families  in  the  country  —  that 
one  little  better  than  a  yeoman,  a  man  who  held  the 
plough  with  his  own  big  hands,  should  enquire  into  their 
social  standing !  Was  not  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  pre- 
pared to  buy  him  up  the  moment  he  required  to  sell ! 
Was  he  not  rich  enough  to  purchase  an  earl's  daughter 
for  his  son,  and  an  earl  himself  for  his  beautiful  Chris- 
tina !  The  thing  would  have  seemed  too  preposterous. 

The  answer  of  the  vice-chancellor's  lady,  burst,  nev- 
ertheless, like  a  bombshell  in  the  cottage.  It  was  to 
this  effect  • —  The  Palmers  were  known,  if  not  just  in 
the  best,  yet  in  very  good  society  ;  the  sons  bore  sign 
of  a  defective  pedigree,  but  the  one  daughter  out  was, 
thanks  to  her  mother,  fit  to  go  anywhere.  For  her  own 
part,  wrote  the  London  correspondent,  she  could  not 
help  smelling  the  grains :  a  distiller"  in  Scotland,  Mr. 
Peregrine  Palmer  had  taken  to  brewing  in  England  — 
was  one  of  the  firm  Pulp  &  Palmer,  owning  half  the 
public-houses  in  London,  therefore  high  in  the  regard 
of  the  English  nobility,  if  not  actually  within  their  cir- 
cle.—  Thus  far  the  satirical  lady  of  the  vice-chancellor. 

Horror  fell  upon  the  soul  of  the  mother.  The  brewer 
was  to  her  as  the  publican  to  the  ancient  Jew.  No 
dealing  in  rags  and  marine  stores,  no  scraping  of  a  for- 
tune by  pettifogging,  chicane,  and  cheating,  was  to  her 
half  so  abominable  as  the  trade  of  a  brewer.  Worse 
yet  was  a  brewer  owning  public-houses,  gathering  riches 
in  half-pence  wet  with  beer  and  smelling  of  gin.  The 


370  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

brewer  was  to  her  a  moral  pariah.  But  a  distiller  was 
worse.  As  she  read,  the  letter  dropped  from  her  hands, 
and  she  threw  them  up  in  unconscious  appeal  to  heaven. 
She  saw  a  vision  of  bloated  men  and  white-faced  wo- 
men, drawing  with  trembling  hands  from  torn  pockets 
the  money  that  had  bought  the  wide  acres  of  the  Clan- 
ruadh.  To  think  of  the  Mucruadh  marrying  the  daugh- 
ter of  such  a  man!  In  society  few  questions  indeed 
were  asked ;  everywhere  money  was  counted  a  blessed 
thing,  almost  however  made  ;  none  the  less  the  damna- 
ble fact  remained,  that  certain  moneys  were  made,  not 
in  furthering  the  well-being  of  men  and  women,  but  in 
furthering  their  sin  and  degradation.  The  mother  of 
the  chief  saw  that,  let  the  world  wink  itself  to  blind- 
ness, let  it  hide  the  roots  of  the  money-plant  in  layer 
upon  layer  of  social  ascent,  the  flower  for  which  an  earl 
will  give  his  daughter,  has  for  the  soil  it  grows  in,  not 
the  dead,  but  the  diseased  and  dying,  of  loathsome 
bodies  and  souls  of  God's  men  and  women  and  children. 
She  grew  hot,  she  grew  cold;  she  started  up  and 
paced  hurriedly  about  the  room.  Her  son  the  son-in- 
law  of  a  distiller  !  the  husband  of  his  daughter !  The 
idea  was  itself  abhorrence  and  contempt !  Was  he  not 
one  of  the  devil's  fishers  of  men,  fishing  the  sea  of  the 
world  for  the  souls  of  men  and  women  to  fill  his  infer- 
nal ponds  withal !  His  money  was  the  fungous  growth 
of  the  devil's  wine-cellars.  How  would  the  brewer  or 
the  distiller,  she  said,  appear  at  the  last  judgment? 
How  would  her  son  hold  up  his  head,  if  he  cast  in  his 
lot  with  his !  But  that  he  would  never  do !  Why 
should  she  be  so  perturbed !  in  this  matter  at  least 
there  could  be  no  difference  between  them !  Her  noble 
Alister  would  be  as  much  shocked  as  herself  at  the 
news !  Could  the  woman  be  a  lady,  grown  on  such  a 


A    TERRIBLE    DISCOVERY.  371 

hot-bed  !  Yet,  alas !  love  could  tempt  far  —  could 
subdue  the  impossible ! 

She  could  not  rest ;  she  must  find  one  of  them  !  Not 
a  moment  longer  could  she  remain  alone  with  the  terri- 
ble disclosure.  If  Alister  was  in  love  with  the  girl,  he 
must  get  out  of  it  at  once  !  Never  again  would  she  en- 
ter the  Palmers'  gate,  never  again  set  foot  on  their 
land  !  The  thought  of  it  was  unendurable !  She  would 
meet  them  as  if  she  did  not  see  them  !  But  they  should 
know  her  reason  —  and  know  her  inexorable  ! 

She  went  to  the  end  of  the  ridge,  and  saw  Ian  sitting 
with  his  book  on  the  other  side  of  the  burn.  She  called 
him  to  her,  and  handed  him  the  letter.  He  took  it, 
read  it  through,  and  gave  it  her  back. 

"  Ian !  "  she  exclaimed,  "have  you  nothing  to  say  to 
that?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  mother,"  he  answered ;  "  I  must 
think  about  it.  Why  should  it  trouble  you  so !  It  is 
painfully  annoying,  but  we  have  come  under  no  obliga- 
tion to  them ! " 

"No;  but  Alister!" 

"  You  cannot  doubt  that  Alister  will  do  what  is 
right ! " 

"He  will  do  what  he  thinks  right !  " 

"  Is  not  that  enough,  mother  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered  angrily  ;  "  he  must  do  the  thing 
that  is  right." 

"  Whether  he  knows  it  or  not  ?  Could  he  do  the 
thing  he  thought  wrong  ?  " 

She  was  silent. 

"  Mother  dear,"  resumed  Ian,  "  the  only  way  to  get 
at  what  is  right  is  to  do  what  seems  right.  Even  if  we 
mistake  there  is  no  other  way !  " 

"  You  would  do  evil  that  good  may  come  !  oh,  Ian ! " 


372  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  No,  mother ;  evil  that  is  not  seen  to  be  evil  by  one 
willing  and  trying  to  do  right,  is  not  counted  evil  to 
him.  It  is  evil  only  to  the  person  who  either  knows  it 
to  be  evil,  or  does  not  care  whether  it  be  or  not." 

"  That  is  dangerous  doctrine ! " 

"  I  will  go  farther,  mother,  and  say,  that  for  Alister 
to  do  what  you  thought  right,  if  he  did  not  think  it 
right  himself  —  even  if  you  were  right  and  he  wrong  — 
would  be  for  him  to  do  wrong,  and  blind  himself  to  the 
truth." 

"  A  man  may  be  to  blame  that  he  is  not  able  to  see 
the  truth,"  said  the  mother. 

"That  is  very  true,  but  hardly  such  a  man  as  Alis- 
ter, who  would  sooner  die  than  do  the  thing  he  believed 
wrong.  But  why  should  you  take  it  for  granted  that 
Alister  will  think  differently  from  you  ?  " 

"  We  don't  always  think  alike." 

"  In  matters  of  right  and  wrong,  I  never  knew  him  or 
me  think  differently  from  you,  mother ! " 

"  He  is  very  fond  of  the  girl ! " 

"And  justly.  I  never  saw  one  more  in  earnest,  or 
more  anxious  to  learn." 

" She  might  well  be  teachable  to  such  teachers! " 

"I  don't  see  that  she  has  ever  sought  to  commend 
herself  to  either  of  us,  mother.  I  believe  her  heart  just 
opened  to  the  realities  she  had  never  had  shown  her  be- 
fore. Come  what  may,  she  will  never  forget  the  things 
we  have  talked  about." 

"  Nothing  would  make  me  trust  her !  " 

"Why?" 

"  She  comes  of  an  abominable  breed." 

"  Is  it  your  part,  mother,  to  make  her  suffer  for  the 
sins  of  her  fathers  ?  " 

"  I  make  her  suffer  I " 


A    TEKRIBLE    DISCOVERY.  373 

"  Certainly,  mother — by  changing  your  mind  towards 
her,  and  suspecting  her,  the  moment  you  learn  cause  to 
be  dissatisfied  with  her  father." 

"  The  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited  on  the  children ! 
—  You  will  not  dispute  that  ?  " 

"  I  will  grant  more  —  that  the  sins  of  the  fathers  are 
often  reproduced  in  the  children.  But  it  is  nowhere 
said,  'Thou  shalt  visit  the  sins  of  the  fathers  on  the 
children.'  God  puts  no  vengeance  into  our  hands.  I 
fear  you  are  in  danger  of  being  unjust  to  the  girl, 
mother !  —  but  then  you  do  not  know  her  so  well  as  we 
do!" 

"  Of  course  not !  Every  boy  understands  a  woman 
better  than  his  mother !  " 

"  The  thing  is  exceedingly  annoying,  mother !  Let 
us  go  and  find  Alister  at  once  !  " 

"  He  will  take  it  like  a  man  of  sense,  I  trust ! " 

"  He  will !  It  will  trouble  him  terribly,  but  he  will 
do  as  he  ought.  Give  him  time  and  I  don't  believe 
there  is  a  man  in  the  world  to  whom  the  right  comes 
out  clearer  than  to  Alister." 

The  mother  answered  only  with  a  sigh. 

"Many  a  man,"  remarked  Ian,  "has  been  saved 
through  what  men  call  an  unfortunate  love  affair ! " 

"  Many  a  man  has  been  lost  by  having  his  own  way 
in  one  !  "  rejoined  the  mother. 

"As  to  lost  I  would  not  make  up  my  mind  about 
that  for  a  few  centuries  or  so ! "  returned  Ian.  "  A 
man  may  be  allowed  his  own  way  for  the  discipline  to 
result  from  it." 

"I  trust,  Ian,  you  will  not  encourage  him  in  any 
folly!" 

"  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  but  encourage  him  in  his 
first  resolves,  mother ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXYII. 

HOW    ALISTER    TOOK    IT. 

rTlHEY  could  not  find  Alister,  who  had  gone  to  the 
-L  smithy.  It  was  tea-time  before  he  came  home. 
As  soon  as  he  entered,  his  mother  handed  him  the  let- 
ter. 

He  read  it  without  a  word,  laid  it  on  the  table  beside 
his  plate,  and  began  to  drink  his  tea,  his  eyes  gleaming 
with  a  strange  light.  Ian  kept  silence  also.  Mrs. 
Macruadh  cast  a  quick  glance,  now  at  the  one,  now  at 
the  other.  She  was  in  great  anxiety,  and  could  scarce 
restrain  herself.  She  knew  her  boys  full  of  inbred 
dignity  and  strong  conscience,  but  was  nevertheless 
doubtful  how  they  would  act.  They  could  not  feel  as 
she  feltr  else  would  the  hot  blood  of  their  race  have  at 
once  boiled  over !  Had  she  searched  herself  she 
might  have  discovered  a  latent  dread  that  they  might 
be  nearer  the  right  than  she.  Painfully  she  watched 
them,  half  conscious  of  a  traitor  in  her  bosom,  judging 
the  world's  judgment  and  not  God's.  Her  sons  seemed 
on  the  point  of  concluding  as  she  would  not  have  them 
conclude :  they  would  side  with  the  young  woman 
against  their  mother ! 

The  reward  of  parents  who  have  tried  to  be  good, 
may  be  to  learn,  with  a  joyous  humility,  from  their 
children.  Mrs.  Macruadh  was  capable  of  learning 
more,  and  was  now  going  to  have  a  lesson. 

When  Alister  pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose,  she 
374 


HOW    ALISTER    TOOK   IT.  375 

could  refrain  no  longer.  She  could  not  let  him  go  in 
silence.  She  must  understand  something  of  what  was 
passing  in  his  mind  ! 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Alister?"  she  said. 

He  turned  to  her  with  a  faint  smile,  and  answered, 

"I  am  glad  to  know  it,  mother." 

"  That  is  good.     I  was  afraid  it  would  hurt  you !  " 

"  Seeing  the  thing  is  so,  I  am  glad  to  be  made  aware 
of  it.  The  information  itself  you  cannot  expect  me  to 
be  pleased  with !  " 

"  No,  indeed,  my  son !  I  am  very  sorry  for  you. 
After  being  so  pleased  with  the  young  woman,  —  " 

Alister  looked  straight  in  his  mother's  face. 

"  You  do  not  imagine,  mother,"  he  said,  "  it  will 
make  any  difference  as  to  Mercy  ?  " 

"  Not  make  any  difference !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Macruadh. 
"  What  is  it  possible  you  can  mean,  Alister  ?  " 

The  anger  that  glowed  in  her  dark  eyes,  made  her 
look  yet  handsomer,  proving  itself  not  a  mean,  though 
it  might  be  a  misplaced  anger. 

"Is  she  different,  mother,  from  what  she  was  before 
you  had  the  letter?" 

"  You  did  not  then  know  what  she  was  ! " 

"  Just  as  well  as  I  do  now.  I  have  no  reason  to 
think  she  is  not  what  I  thought  her." 

"  You  thought  her  the  daughter  of  a  gentleman  !  " 

"  Hardly.  I  thought  her  a  lady,  and  such  I  think 
her  still." 

"  Then  you  mean  to  go  on  with  it  ?  " 

"  Mother  dear,"  said  Alister,  taking  her  by  the  hand, 
"  give  me  a  little  time.  Not  that  I  am  in  any  doubt  — 
but  the  news  has  been  such  a  blow  to  me  that  —  " 

"  It  must  have  been !  "  said  the  mother. 

"  —  that  I  am  afraid  of  answering  you  out  of  the 


376  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

soreness  of  my  pride,  and  Ian  says  the  Truth  is  never 
angry." 

"I  am  quite  willing  you  should  do  nothing  in  a 
hurry,"  said  the  mother. 

She  did  not  understand  that  he  feared  lest,  in  his 
indignation  for  Mercy,  he  should  answer  his  mother  as 
her  son  ought  not. 

"  I  will  take  time,"  he  replied.  "  And  here  is  Ian  to 
help  me ! " 

"  Ah !  if  only  your  father  were  here ! " 

"He  may  be,  mother!  Anyhow  I  trust  I  shall  do 
nothing  he  would  not  like  ! " 

"  He  would  sooner  see  son  of  his  marry  the  daughter 
of  a  cobbler  than  of  a  brewer ! " 

"  So  would  I,  mother !  "  said  Alister. 

"I  too,"  said  Ian,  "would  much  prefer  that  my  sis- 
ter-in-law's father  were  not  a  brewer." 

"I  suppose  you  are  splitting  some  hair,  Ian,  but  I 
don't  see  it,"  remarked  his  mother,  who  had  begun  to 
gather  a  little  hope.  "  You  will  be  back  by  supper- 
time,  Alister,  I  suppose?" 

"  Certainly,  mother.  We  are  only  going  to  the  vil- 
lage." 

The  brothers  went. 

"  I  knew  everything  you  were  thinking,"  said  Ian. 

"  Of  course  you  did ! "  answered  Alister. 

"  But  I  am  very  sorry ! " 

"  So  am  I !    It  is  a  terrible  bore ! " 

A  pause  followed.  Alister  burst  into  a  laugh  that 
was  not  merry. 

"  It  makes  me  think  of  the  look  on  my  father's  face," 
he  said,  "once  at  the  market,  as  he  was  putting  in  his 
pocket  a  bunch  of  more  than  usually  dirty  bank-notes. 
It  seemed  almost  to  make  apology  for  him  that  he  was 


HOW    ALISTER    TOOK    IT.  377 

my  father  —  the  notes  were  so  dirty !  '  They're  better 
than  they  look,  lad  ! '  he  said." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Alister  ?  " 

"  Of  nothing  you  are  not  thinking  of,  Ian,  I  hope  in 
God !  Mr.  Palmer's  money  is  worse  than  it  looks." 

"  You  frightened  me  for  a  moment,  Alister ! " 

«  How  could  I,  Ian !  " 

"  It  was  but  a  nervo-mechanical  fright.  I  knew  well 
enough  you  could  mean  nothing  I  should  not  like.  But 
I  see  trouble  ahead,  Alister ! " 

"We  shall  be  called  a  pack  of  fools,  but  what  of 
that !  We  shall  be  told  the  money  itself  was  clean,  how- 
ever dirty  the  hands  that  made  it !  The  money-grubs ! " 

"  I  would  rather  see  you  hanged  than  pocketing  a 
shilling  of  it!" 

"Of  course  you  would!  But  the  man  who  could 
pocket  it,  will  be  relieved  to  find  it  is  only  his  daughter 
I  care  about." 

"  There  will  be  difficulty,  Alister,  I  fear.  How  much 
have  you  said  to  Mercy  ?  " 

"  I  have  said  nothing  definite." 

"  But  she  understands  ?  " 

"  I  think  —  I  hope  so.  —  Don't  you  think  Christina 
is  much  improved,  Ian  ?  " 

"  She  is  more  pleasant." 

"  She  is  quite  attentive  to  you !  " 

"  She  is  pleased  with  me  for  saving  her  life.  She 
does  not  like  me  —  and  I  have  just  arrived  at  not  dis- 
liking her." 

"  There  is  a  great  change  on  her !  " 

"  I  doubt  if  there  is  any  in  her  though  ! " 

"  I  dare  say  she  is  only  amusing  herself  with  us  in 
this  outlandish  place !  Mercy,  I  am  sure,  is  quite  dif- 
ferent ! " 


378  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  I  would  trust  her  with  anything,  Alister.  That  girl 
would  die  for  the  man  she  loved ! " 

"  I  would  rather  have  her  love,  though  we  should 
never  meet  in  this  world,  than  the  lands  of  my  fath- 
ers ! " 

"What  will  you  do  then?" 

"  I  will  go  to  Mr.  Palmer  and  say  to  him :  '  Give  me 
your  daughter.  I  am  a  poor  man  but  we  shall  have 
enough  to  live  upon.  I  believe  she  will  be  happy.' " 

"  I  will  answer  for  him :  '  I  have  the  greatest  regard 
for  you,  Macruadh.  You  are  a  gentleman,  and  that 
you  are  poor  is  not  of  the  slightest  consequence  ;  Mer- 
cy's dowry  shall  be  worthy  the  lady  of  a  chief ! '  — What 
then,  Alister?" 

"  Fathers  that  love  money  must  be  glad  to  get  rid  of 
their  daughters  without  a  dowry !  " 

"Yes,  perhaps,  when  they  are  misers,  or  money  is 
scarce,  or  wanted  for  something  else.  But  when  a 
poor  man  of  position  wanted  to  marry  his  daughter,  a 
parent  like  Mr.  Palmer  would  doubtless  regard  her 
dowry  as  a  good  investment.  You  must  not  think  to  es- 
cape that  way,  Alister !  What  would  you  answer  him  ?  " 

"  I  would  say,  £  My  dear  sir,'  —  I  may  say,  *  My  dear 
sir,'  may  I  not?  there  is  something  about  the  man  I 
like !  —  'I  do  not  want  your  money.  I  will  not  have 
your  money !  Give  me  your  daughter  and  my  soul  will 
bless  you.' " 

"  Suppose  he  should  reply,  '  Do  you  think  I  am  going 
to  send  my  daughter  from  my  house  like  a  beggar? 
No,  no,  my  boy !  she  must  carry  something  with  her ! 
If  beggars  married  beggars,  the  world  would  be  full  of 
beggars ! '  —  what  would  you  say  then  ?  " 

"  I  would  tell  him  I  had  conscientious  scruples  about 
taking  his  money/' 


HOW    ALISTER    TOOK    IT.  379 

"  He  would  tell  you  you  were  a  fool,  and  not  to  be 
trusted  with  a  wife.  '  Who  ever  heard  such  rubbish ! ' 
he  would  say.  '  Scruples,  indeed !  You  must  get  over 
them!  What  are  they?'  —  What  would  you  say 
then  ?  " 

"  If  it  came  to  that,  I  should  have  no  choice  but  tell 
him  I  had  insuperable  objections  to  the  way  his  fortune 
was  made,  and  could  not  consent  to  share  it." 

"  He  would  protest  himself  insulted,  and  swear,  if  his 
money  was  not  good  enough  for  you,  neither  was  his 
daughter.  What  then  ?  " 

"  I  would  appeal  to  Mercy." 

"  She  is  too  young.  It  would  be  sad  to  set  one  of 
her  years  at  variance  with  her  family.  I  almost  think 
I  would  rather  you  ran  away  with  her.  It  is  a  terrible 
thing  to  go  into  a  house  and  destroy  the  peace  of  those 
relations  which  are  at  the  root  of  all  that  is  good  in  the 
world." 

"  I  know  it !  I  know  it !  That  is  my  trouble  !  I  am 
not  afraid  of  Mercy's  consent,  and  I  believe  she  would 
hold  out.  I  am  certain  nothing  would  make  her  marry 
the  man  she  did  not  love.  But  to  turn  the  house  into 
a  hell  about  her  —  I  shrink  from  that !  — -"The  thing  in- 
volves delicate  and  difficult  questions.  Do  you  think 
it  necessary  to  provide  against  every  contingency  before 
taking  the  first  step  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do  not !  The  first  step  is  enough.  When 
that  step  has  landed  us,  we  start  afresh.  But  of  all 
things  you  must  not  lose  your  temper  with  the  man. 
However  despicable  his  money,  you  are  his  suitor ! 
And  he  may  possibly  not  think  you  half  good  enough 
for  her." 

"  That  would  be  a  grand  way  out  of  the  difficulty !  " 

"How?" 


380  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  It  would  leave  me  far  freer  to  deal  with  her." 

"  Perhaps.  And  in  any  case,  the  more  we  can  hon- 
estly avoid  reference  to  his  money,  the  better.  We 
are  not  called  on  to  rebuke." 

"  Small  is  my  inclination  to  allude  to  it  —  so  long  as 
not  a  stiver  of  it  seeks  to  cross  to  the  Macruadh  !  " 

"  That  is  fast  as  fate.  But  there  is  another  thing, 
Alister :  —  I  fear  lest  you  should  ever  forget  that  her 
birth  and  her  connections  are  no  more  a  part  of  the 
woman's  self  than  her  poverty  or  her  wealth." 

"  I  know  it,  Ian.     I  will  not  forget  it." 

"  There  must  never  be  a  word  concerning  them  !  " 

"  Nor  a  thought,  Ian  !  In  God's  name  I  will  be  true 
to  her." 

They  found  Annie  of  the  shop  in  a  sad  way.  She 
had  just  had  a  letter  from  Lachlan,  stating  that  he  had 
not  been  well  for  some  time,  and  that  there  was  little 
prospect  of  his  being  able  to  fetch  her.  He  prayed  her 
therefore  to  go  out  to  him  ;  and  had  sent  money  to  pay 
her  passage  and  her  mother's. 

"  When  do  you  go  ?  "  asked  the  chief. 

"  My  mother  fears  the  voyage,  and  is  very  unwilling 
to  turn  her  back  on  her  own  country.  But  oh,  if  Lach- 
lan die,  and  me  not  with  him  ! " 

She  could  say  no  more. 

"  He  shall  not  die  for  want  of  you  !  "  said  the  laird. 
"  I  will  talk  to  your  mother." 

He  went  into  the  room  behind.  Ian  remained  in  the 
shop. 

"  Of  course  you  must  go,  Annie  !  "  he  said. 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  must!  But  how  to  persuade  my 
mother,  I  do  not  know !  And  I  cannot  leave  her  even 
for  Lachlan.  No  one  would  nurse  him  more  tenderly 
than  she,  but  she  has  a  horror  of  the  salt  water,  and 


HOW    ALISTER    TOOK   IT.  381 

what  she  most  dreads  is  being  buried  in  it.  She  imag- 
ines herself  drowning  to  all  eternity  !  " 

"  My  brother  will  persuade  her." 

"  I  hope  so,  sir.  I  was  just  coming  to  him !  I  should 
never  hold  up  my  head  again  —  in  this  world  or  the 
next  —  either  if  I  did  not  go,  or  if  I  went  without  my 
mother!  Aunt  Conal  told  me,  about  a  month  since, 
that  I  was  going  a  long  journey,  and  would  never  come 
back.  I  asked  her  if  I  was  to  die  on  the  way,  but  she 
would  not  answer  me.  Anyhow  I'm  not  fit  to  be  his 
wife,  if  I'm  not  ready  to  die  for  him!  Some  people 
think  it  wrong  to  marry  anybody  going  to  die,  but  at 
the  longest,  you  know,  sir,  you  must  part  sooner  than 
you  would  !  Not  many  are  allowed  to  die  together  ! — 
You  don't  think,  do  you,  sir,  that  marriages  go  for  noth- 
ing in  the  other  world  ?  " 

She  spoke  with  a  white  face  and  brave  eyes,  and  Ian 
was  glad  at  heart. 

"  I  do  not,  Annie,"  he  answered.  " '  The  gifts  of 
God  are  without  repentance.'  He  did  not  give  you  and 
Lachlan  to  each  other  to  part  you  again !  Though  you 
are  not  married  yet,  it  is  all  the  same  so  long  as  you 
are  true  to  each  other." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  you  always  make  me  feel  strong ! " 

Alister  came  from  the  back-room. 

"  I  think  your  mother  sees  it  not  quite  so  difficult 
now,"  he  said. 

The  next  time  they  went,  they  found  them  preparing 
to  go. 

Now  Ian  had  nearly  finished  the  book  he  was  writ- 
ing about  Russia,  and  could  not  begin  another  all  at 
once.  He  must  not  stay  at  home  doing  nothing,  and 
he  thought  that,  as  things  were  going  from  bad  to  worse 
in  the  highlands,  he  might  make  a  voyage  to  Canada, 


382  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

visit  those  of  his  clan,  and  see  what  ought  to  be  done 
for  such  as  must  soon  follow  them.  He  would  presently 
have  a  little  money  in  his  possession,  and  believed  he 
could  not  spend  it  better.  He  made  up  his  mind  there- 
fore to  accompany  Annie  and  her  mother.  He  did  not 
like  leaving  Alister  at  such  a  critical  point  in  his  his- 
tory ;  but,  he  said  to  himself  a  man  might  be  helped 
too  much  and  it  might  come  that  Mercy  and  he  were 
in  as  much  need  of  a  refuge  as  the  clan. 

I  can  not  say  no  worldly  pride  mingled  in  the  chief's 
contempt  for  the  distiller's  money ;  his  righteous  soul 
was  not  yet  clear  of  its  inherited  judgments  as  to  what 
is  dignified  and  what  is  not.  He  had  in  him  still  the 
prejudice  of  the  land-holder,  for  ages  instinctive,  against 
both  manufacture  and  trade.  Various  things  had  com- 
bined to  foster  in  him  also  the  belief  that  trade  at  least 
was  never  free  from  more  or  less  of  unfair  dealing,  and 
was  therefore  in  itself  a  low  pursuit.  He  had  not  ar- 
gued that  nothing  the  Father  of  men  has  decreed  can 
in  its  nature  be  contemptible,  but  must  be  capable  of 
being  nobly  done.  In  the  things  that  some  one  must 
do,  the  doer  ranks  in  God's  sight,  and  ought  to  rank 
among  his  fellow-men,  according  to  how  he  does  it. 
The  higher  the  calling  the  more  contemptible  the  man 
who  therein  pursues  his  own  ends.  The  humblest  call- 
ing, followed  on  the  principles  of  the  divine  caller,  is  a 
true  and  divine  calling,  be  it  scavenging,  handicraft, 
shop-keeping,  or  book-making.  Oh  for  the  day  when 
God  and  not  the  king,  shall  be  regarded  as  the  fountain 
of  honor !  i 

But  the  Macruadh  regarded  the  calling  of  brewer  or 
distiller  as  from  the  devil :  he  was  not  called  of  God  to 
brew  or  distil !  From  childhood  his  mother  had  taught 
him  a  horror  of  gain  by  corruption.  She  had  taught,  and 


HOW    ALISTER    TOOK   IT.  383 

he  had  learned,  that  the  poorest  of  all  justifications,  the 
least  fit  to  serve  the  turn  of  gentleman,  logician,  or 
Christian,  was  —  "  If  I  do  not  touch  this  pitch,  another 
will ;  there  will  be  just  as  much  harm  .done  ;  and  an- 
other instead  of  me  will  have  the  benefit ;  therefore  it 
cannot  defile  me.  —  Offences  must  come,  therefore  I 
will  do  them  !  "  Imagine  our  Lord  in  the  brewing  trade 
instead  of  the  carpentering !  That  better  beer  is  pro- 
vided by  the  good  brewer  will  not  go  far  for  brewer  or 
drinker :  it  matters  little  that,  by  drinking  good  beer, 
the  drunkard  lives  to  be  drunk  the  oftener.  A  brewer 
might  do  much  to  reduce  drinking  ;  but  that  would  be 
to  reduce  a  princely  income  to  a  modest  livelihood,  and 
to  content  himself  with  the  baker's  daughter  instead 
of  the  duke's.  It  followed  that  the  Macruadh  would 
rather  have  robbed  a  church  than  touched  Mr.  Pere- 
grine Palmer's  money.  To  rifle  the  tombs  of  the  dead 
would  have  seemed  to  him  pure  righteousness  beside 
sharing  in  that.  He  could  give  Mercy  up ;  he  co.uld  not 
take  such  money  with  her!  Much  as  he  loved  her, 
separate  as  he  saw  her,  clearly  as  she  was  to  him  a 
woman  undefiled  and  straight  from  God,  it  was  yet  a 
great  trial  to  him  that  she  should  be  the  daughter  of  a 
person  whose  manufacture  and  trade  were  such. 

After  much  consideration,  it  was  determined  in  the 
family  conclave,  that  Ian  should  accompany  the  two 
women  to  Canada,  note  how  things  were  going,  and 
conclude  what  had  best  be  done,  should  further  exodus 
be  found  necessary.  As,  however,  there  had  come  bet- 
ter news  of  Lachlan,  they  would  not,  for  several  reasons, 
start  before  the  month  of  September.  A  few  of  the 
poorest  of  the  clan  resolved  to  go  with  them.  Partly 
for  their  sakes,  partly  because  his  own  provision  would 
be  small,  Ian  would  take  passage  also  in  the  steerage. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

LOVE. 


went  back  to  London  considerably 
changed.  Her  beauty  was  greater  far,  for  there 
was  a  new  element  in  it  —  a  certain  atmosphere  of  dis- 
tances and  shadows  gave  mystery  to  her  landscape. 
Her  weather,  that  is  her  mood,  was  now  subject  to 
changes  which  made  her  more  attractive  to  many.  Fits 
of  wild  gaiety  alternated  with  glooms,  through  which 
would  break  flashes  of  feline  playfulness,  where  pat  and 
scratch  were  a  little  mixed.  She  had  more  admirers 
than  ever,  for  she  had  developed  points  capable  of  in- 
teresting men  of  somewhat  higher  development  than 
those  she  had  hitherto  pleased.  At  the  same  time  she 
was  more  wayward  and  imperious  with  her  courtiers. 
Gladly  would  she  have  thrown  all  the  flattery  once 
so  coveted,  into  the  rag-bag  of  creation,  to  have  one 
approving  smile  from  the  sad-looking,  gracious  man, 
whom  she  knew  happier,  wandering  alone  over  the 
hills,  than  if  she  were  walking  by  his  side.  For  an 
hour  she  would  persuade  herself  that  he  cared  for  her  a 
little  ;  the  next  she  would  comfort  herself  with  the 
small  likelihood  of  his  meeting  another  lady  in  Glen- 
ruadh.  But  then  he  had  been  such  a  traveller,  had  seen 
so  much  of  the  great  world,  that  perhaps  he  was  already 
lost  to  her  !  It  seemed  but  too  probable,  when  she 
recalled  the  sadness  with  which  he  seemed  sometimes 
overshadowed  :  it  could  not  be  a  religious  gloom,  for 
384 


LOVE.  385 

when  he  spoke  of  God  his  face  shone,  and  his  words 
were  strong !  I  think  she  mistook  a  certain  gravity, 
like  that  of  the  Merchant  of  Venice,  for  sorrowfulness; 
though  doubtless  the  peculiarity  of  his  loss,  as  well  as 
the  loss  itself,  did  sometimes  make  him  sad. 

She  had  tried  on  him  her  little  arts  of  subjugation, 
but  the  moment  she  began  to  love  him,  she  not  only 
saw  their  uselessness,  but  hated  them.  Her  repellent 
behavior  to  her  admirers,  and  her  occasional  excitement 
and  oddity,  caused  her  mother  some  anxiety,  but  as  the 
season  came  to  a  close,  she  grew  gayer,  and  was  at 
times  absolutely  bewitching.  The  mother  wished  to 
go  northward  by  degrees,  paying  visits  on  the  way ;  but 
her  plan  met  with  no  approbation  from  the  girls.  Chris- 
tina longed  for  the  presence  and  voice  of  Ian  in  the 
cottage-parlor,  Mercy  for  a  hill-side  with  the  chief; 
both  longed  to  hear  them  speak  to  each  other  in  their 
own  great  way.  And  they  talked  so  of  the  delights  of 
their  highland  home  that  the  mother  began  to  feel  the 
mountains,  the  sea,  and  the  islands,  drawing  her  to  a 
land  of  peace,  where  things  went  well,  and  the  world 
knew  how  to  live.  But  the  stormiest  months  of  her 
life  were  about  to  pass  among  those  dumb  mountains ! 

After  a  long  and  eager  journey,  the  girls  were  once 
more  in  their  rooms  at  the  New  House. 

Mercy  went  to  her  window,  and  stood  gazing  from 
it  upon  the  mountain-world,  faint-lighted  by  the  north- 
ern twilight.  She  might  have  said  with  Portia :  — 

This  night  methinks  is  but  the  daylight  sick  ; 
It  looks  a  little  paler:  'tis  a  day, 
Such  as  the  day  is  when  the  sun  is  hid. 

She  could  see  the  dark  bulk  of  the  hills,  sharpened 
to  a  clear  edge  against  the  pellucid  horizon,  but  with 


386  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

no  color,  and  no  visible  featuring  of  their  great  fronts. 
When  the  sun  rose,  it  would  reveal  innumerable  varie- 
ties of  surface,  by  the  mottling  of  endless  shadows ; 
now  all  was  smooth  as  an  unawakened  conscience.  By 
the  shape  of  a  small  top  that  rose  against  the  greenish 
sky  betwixt  the  parting  lines  of  two  higher  hills,  where 
it  seemed  to  peep  out  over  the  marge  into  the  infinite, 
as  a  little  man  through  the  gap  between  the  heads  of 
taller  neighbors,  she  knew  the  roof  of  the  tomb ;  and 
she  thought  how,  just  below  there,  away  as  it  seemed 
in  the  high-lifted  solitudes  of  heaven,  she  had  lain  in 
the  clutches  of  death,  all  the  time  watched  and  defended 
by  the  angel  of  a  higher  life  who  had  been  with  her 
ever  since  first  she  came  to  Glenruadh,  waking  her  out 
of  such  a  stupidity,  such  a  non-existence,  as  now  she 
could  scarce  see  possible  to  human  being.  It  was  true 
her  waking  had  been  one  with  her  love  to  that  human 
East  which  first  she  saw  as  she  opened  her  eyes,  and 
whence  first  the  light  of  her  morning  had  flowed  —  the 
man  who  had  been  and  was  to  her  the  window  of  God  ! 
But  why  should  that  make  her  doubt  ?  God  made  man 
and  woman  to  love  each  other :  why  should  not  the 
waking  to  love  and  the  waking  to  truth  come  together, 
seeing  both  were  of  God  ?  If  the  chief  were  never  to 
speak  to  her  again,  she  would  never  go  back  from  what 
she  had  learned  of  him !  If  she  ever  became  careless 
of  truth  and  life  and  God,  it  would  but  show  that  she 
had  never  truly  loved  the  chief ! 

As  she  stood  gazing  on  the  hill-top,  high  landmark 
of  her  history,  she  felt  as  if  the  earth  were  holding  her 
up  toward  heaven,  an  offering  to  the  higher  life.  The 
hill  grew  an  altar  of  prayer  on  which  her  soul  was  lying, 
dead  until  taken  up  into  life  by  the  arms  of  the  Father. 
A  deep  content  pervaded  her  heart.  She  turned  with 


LOVE.  387 

her  weight  of  peace,  lay  down,  and  went  to  sleep  in 
the  presence  of  her  Life. 

Christina  looked  also  from  her  window,  but  her 
thoughts  were  not  like  Mercy's,  for  her  heart  was 
mainly  filled,  not  with  love  of  Ian,  but  with  desire 
that  Ian  should  love  her.  She  longed  to  be  his  queen 
—  the  woman  of  all  women  he  had  seen.  The  sweet 
repose  of  the  sleeping  world  wrought  in  her  —  not 
peace,  but  weakness.  Her  soul  kept  leaning  towards 
Ian;  she  longed  for  his  arms  to  shut  out  the  alien 
nature  lying  so  self-satisfied  all  about  her.  To  her  the 
presence  of  God  took  shape  as  an  emptiness  —  an  ab- 
sence. The  resting  world  appeared  to  her  cold,  un- 
sympathetic, heedless ;  its  peace  was  but  heartlessness. 
The  soft  pellucid  chrysolite  of  passive  heavenly 
thought,  was  a  merest  arrangement,  a  common  fact, 
meaning  nothing  to  her. 

She  was  hungry,  not  merely  after  bliss,  but  after 
distinction  in  bliss ;  not  after  growth,  but  after  ac- 
knowledged superiority.  She  needed  to  learn  that  she 
was  nobody  —  that  if  the  world  were  peopled  with 
creatures  like  her,  it  would  be  no  more  worth  sustain- 
ing than  were  it  a  world  of  sand,  of  which  no  man 
could  build  even  a  hut.  Still,  by  her  need  of  another, 
God  was  laying  hold  of  her.  As  by  the  law  is  the 
knowledge  of  sin,  so  by  love  is  selfishness  rampantly 
roused  —  to  be  at  last  like  death,  swallowed  up  in  vic- 
tory—  the  victory  of  the  ideal  self  that  dwells  in  God. 

All  night  she  dreamed  sad  dreams  of  Ian  in  the  em- 
brace of  a  lovely  woman,  without  word  or  look  for  her. 
She  woke  weeping,  and  said  to  herself  that  it  could  not 
be.  He  could  not  be  taken  from  her !  it  was  against 
nature!  Soul,  brain,  and  heart,  claimed  him  hers! 
How  could  another  possess  what,  in  the  testimony  of 


388  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

her  whole  consciousness,  was  hers  and  hers  alone ! 
Love  asserts  an  innate  and  irreversible  right  of  pro- 
foundest  property  in  the  person  loved.  It  is  an  in- 
stinct—  but  how  wrongly,  undivinely,  falsely  inter- 
preted !  Hence  so  many  tears !  Hence  a  law  of  na- 
ture, deep  written  in  the  young  heart,  seems  often  set 
utterly  at  nought  by  circumstance ! 

But  the  girl  in  her  dejection  and  doubt,  was  worth 
far  more  than  in  her  content  and  confidence.  She  was 
even  now  the  richer  by  the  knowledge  of  sorrow  and 
she  was  on  the  way  to  know  that  she  needed  help,  on 
the  way  to  hate  herself,  to  become  capable  of  loving. 
Life  could  never  be  the  same  to  her,  and  the  farther 
from  the  same  the  better ! 

The  beauty  came  down  in  the  morning  pale  and  dim 
and  white-lipped,  like  a  flower  that  had  had  no  water. 
Mercy  was  fresh  and  rosy,  with  a  luminous  mist  of 
loveliness  over  her  plain  unfinished  features.  Already 
had  they  begun  to  change  in  the  direction  of  beauty. 
Christina's  eyes  burned ;  in  Mercy's  shone  something 
of  the  light  by  which  a  soul  may  walk  and  not  stum- 
ble. In  the  eyes  of  both  was  expectation,  in  the  eyes 
of  the  one  confident,  in  the  eyes  of  the  other  anxious. 

As  soon  as  they  found  themselves  alone  together, 
eyes  sought  eyes,  and  met  in  understanding.  They 
had  not  made  confidantes  of  each  other,  each  guessed 
well,  and  was  well  guessed  at.  They  did  not  speculate  ; 
they  understood.  In  like  manner,  Mercy  and  Alister 
understood  each  other,  but  not  Christina  and  Ian. 
Neither  of  them  knew  the  feelings  of  the  other. 

Without  a  word  they  rose,  put  on  their  hats,  left  the 
house,  and  took  the  road  toward  the  valley.  About 
half-way  to  the  root  of  the  ridge,  they  came  in  sight 
of  the  ruined  castle  ;  Mercy  stopped  with  a  little  cry. 


LOVE.  389 

"  Look !  Chrissy ! "  she  said,  pointing. 

On  the  corner  next  them,  close  by  the  pepper-pot 
turret,  sat  the  two  men,  in  what  seemed  to  loving  eyes 
a  dangerous  position,  but  to  the  mountaineers  them- 
selves a  comfortable  coin  of  vantage.  The  girls 
thought  both,  "  They  are  looking  out  for  us ! "  but 
Ian  was  there  only  because  Alister  was  there. 

The  men  waved  their  bonnets.  Christina  responded 
with  her  handkerchief.  The  men  disappeared  from 
their  perch,  and  were  with  the  ladies  before  they 
reached  the  ridge.  There  was  no  embarrassment  on 
either  side,  though  a  few  cheeks  were  rosier  than  usual. 
To  the  chief,  Mercy  was  far  beyond  his  memory  of  her. 
Not  her  face  only,  but  her  every  movement  bore  witness 
to  a  deeper  pleasure,  a  greater  freedom  in  life  than  be- 
fore. 

"  Why  were  you  in  such  a  dangerous  place  ?  "  asked 
Christina. 

"  We  were  looking  out  for  you,"  answered  Alister. 
"  From  there  we  could  see  you  the  moment  you  came 
out." 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  and  meet  us  then  ?  " 

"  Because  we  wanted  to  watch  you  coming." 

"  Spies !  —  I  hope,  Mercy,  we  were  behaving  ourselves 
properly !  I  had  no  idea  we  were  watched !  " 

"We  thought  you  had  quarrelled;  neither  said  a 
word  to  the  other." 

Mercy  looked  up ;  Christina  looked  down. 

"  Could  you  hear  us  at  that  height  ?  "  asked  Mercy. 

"  How  could  we  when  there  was  not  a  word  to  hear ! " 

"  How  did  you  know  we  were  silent  ?  " 

"  We  might  have  known  by  the  way  you  walked," 
replied  Alister.  "  But  if  you  had  spoken  we  should 
have  heard,  for  sound  travels  far  among  the  mountains !  " 


390  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Then  I  think  it  was  a  shame ! "  said  Christina. 
"  How  could  you  tell  that  we  might  not  object  to  your 
hearing  us  ?  " 

"  We  never  thought  of  that !  "  said  Alister.  "  I  am 
very  sorry.  We  shall  certainly  not  be  guilty  again !  " 

"  What  men  you  are  for  taking  every  thing  in  down- 
right earnest ! "  cried  Christina ;  "  —  as  if  we  could 
have  anything  to  say  we  should  wish  you  not  to  hear !  " 

She  put  a  little  emphasis  on  the  you^  but  not  much. 
Alister  h<pi?d  it  as  if  Mercy  had  said  it,  and  smiled  a 
pleased  smile. 

"  It  will  be  a  glad  day  for  the  world,"  he  said,  "when 
secrecy  is  over,  and  every  man  may  speak  out  the  thing 
that  is  in  him,  without  danger  of  offence !  " 

In  her  turn,  Christina  heard  the  words  as  if  spoken 
with  reference  to  Ian  though  not  by  him,  and  took 
them  to  hint  at  the  difficulty  of  saying  what  was  in  his 
heart.  She  had  such  an  idea  of  her  superiority  because 
of  her  father's  wealth  and  fancied  position,  that  she  at 
once  concluded  Ian  dreaded  rejection  with  scorn;  for  it 
was  not  even  as  if  he  were  the  chief.  However  poor, 
Alister  was  at  least  the  head  of  a  family,  and  might  set 
sir  before,  and  baronet  after  his  name  —  not  that  her 
father  would  think  that  much  of  a  dignity !  —  but  no 
younger  son  of  whatever  rank,  would  be  good  enough 
for  her  in  her  father's  eyes !  At  the  same  time  she  had 
a  choice  as  well  as  her  father,  and  he  should  find  that 
she  too  had  a  will  of  her  own ! 

"  But  was  it  not  a  dangerous  place  to  be  in  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  little  crumbly,"  confessed  Ian.  " —  That  re- 
minds me,  Alister,  we  must  have  a  bout  at  the  old  walls 
before  long !  —  Ever  since  Alister  was  ten  years  old," 
he  went  on  in  explanation  to  Christina,  "  he  and  I  have 
been  patching  and  pointing  at  the  old  hulk  —  the 


LOVE.  391 

stranded  ship  of  our  poor  fortunes.  I  showed  you,  did 
I  not,  the  ship  in  our  coat  of  arms  —  the  galley  at  least, 
in  which,  they  say,  we  arrived  at  the  island  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  remember. —  But  you  don't  mean  you  do 
mason's  work  as  well  as  everything  else  ?  "  exclaimed 
Christina. 

"  Come  ;  we  will  show  you,"  said  the  chief. 

"What  do  you  do  it  for?  " 

The  brothers  exchanged  glances. 

"Would  you  count  it  sufficient  reason,"  returned 
Ian,  "  that  we  desired  to  preserve  its  testimony  to  the 
former  status  of  our  family  ?  " 

A  pang  of  pleasure  shot  through  the  heart  of  Christina. 
Passion  is  potent  to  twist  in  its  favor  whatever  can 
possibly  be  so  twisted.  Here  was  an  indubitable  indica- 
tion of  his  thoughts !  He  must  make  the  most  of  him- 
self, set  what  he  could  against  the  overwhelming  advan- 
tages on  her  side !  In  the  eyes  of  a  man  of  the  world 
like  her  father,  an  old  name  was  nothing  beside  new 
money!  still  an  old  castle  was  always  an  old  castle! 
and  that  he  cared  about  it  for  her  sake  made  it  to  her 
at  least  worth  something !  Ere  she  could  make  an 
answer,  Ian  went  on,  "  But  in  truth,"  he  said,  "  we  have 
always  had  vague  hope  of  its  resurrection.  The  dream 
of  our  boyhood  was  to  rebuild  the  castle.  Every 
year  it  has  grown  more  hopeless,  and  keeps  receding. 
But  we  have  come  to  see  how  little  it  matters,  and 
content  ourselves  with  keeping  up,  for  old  love's 
sake,  what  is  left  of  the  ruin." 

"  How  do  you  get  up  on  the  walls  ?  "  asked  Mercy. 

"  Ah,  that  is  a  secret !  "   said  Ian. 

"Do  tell  us,"  pleaded  Christina. 

"  If  you  want  very  much  to  know  —  "  answered  Ian, 
a  little  doubtfully. 


392  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"I  do,  I  do!" 

"  Then  I  suppose  we  must  tell  you ! " 

Yet  more  confirmation  to  the  passion-prejudiced  ears 
of  Christina ! 

"  There  is  a  stair,"  Ian  went  on,  "  of  which  no  one 
but  our  two  selves  knows  anything.  Such  stairs  are 
common  in  old  houses  —  far  commoner  than  people  in 
towns  have  a  notion  of.  But  there  would  not  have 
been  much  of  it  left  by  this  time,  if  we  hadn't  taken 
care  of  it.  We  were  little  fellows  when  we  began,  and 
it  needed  much  contrivance,  for  we  were  not  able  to 
unseat  the  remnants  of  the  broken  steps,  and  replace 
them  with  new  ones." 

"Do  show  it  us,"  begged  Christina. 

"  We  will  keep  it,"  said  Alister,  "for  some  warm  twi- 
light. Morning  is  not  for  ruins.  Yon  mountain-side 
is  calling  to  us.  Will  you  come,  Mercy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  cried  Christina :  "  that  will  be  much  bet- 
ter !  Come,  Mercy !  You  are  up  to  a  climb,  I  am  sure ! " 

"  I  ought  to  be,  after  such  a  long  rest." 

"  You  may  have  forgotten  how  to  climb ! "  said 
Alister. 

"  I  dreamed  too  much  of  the  hills  for  that !  And  al- 
ways the  noise  of  London  was  changed  into  the  rush 
of  waters." 

They  had  dropped  a  little  behind  the  other  pair. 

"Did  you  always  climb  your  dream-hills  alone?" 
said  Alister. 

She  answered  him  with  just  a  lift  of  her  big  dark 
eyes. 

They  walked  slowly  down  the  road  till  they  came  to 
Mrs.  Conal's  path,  passed  her  door  unassailed,  and  went 
up  the  hill. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

PASSION  AND   PATIENCE. 

IT  was  a  glorious  morning,  and  as  they  climbed,  the 
lightening  air  made  their  spirits  rise  with  their 
steps.  Great  masses  of  cloud  hung  beyond  the  edge 
of  the  world,  and  here  and  there  towered  foundation- 
less  in  the  sky  —  huge  tumulous  heaps  of  white  vapor 
with  gray  shadows.  The  sun  was  strong,  and  poured 
down  floods  of  light,  but  his  heat  was  deliciously  tem- 
pered by  the  mountain  atmosphere.  There  was  no 
wind  —  only  an  occasional  movement,  as  if  the  air  it- 
self were  breathing  —  just  enough  to  let  them  feel  they 
moved  in  no  vacuum,  but  in  the  heart  of  a  gentle  ocean. 
They  came  to  the  hut  I  have  already  described  as 
the  one  chiefly  inhabited  by  Hector  of  the  Stags  and 
Rob  of  the  Angels.  It  commanded  a  rare  vision.  In 
every  direction  rose  some  cone-shaped  hill.  The  world 
lay  in  colored  waves  before  them,  wild,  rugged,  and 
grand,  with  sheltering  spots  of  beauty  between,  and 
the  shine  of  lowly  waters.  They  tapped  at  the  door 
of  the  hut,  but  there  was  no  response ;  they  lifted  the 
latch  —  it  had  no  lock  —  and  found  neither  within. 
Alister  and  Mercy  wandered  a  little  higher,  to  the 
shadow  of  a  great  stone ;  Christina  went  inside  the 
hut  and  looked  from  its  door  upon  the  world;  Ian 
leaned  against  the  side  of  it,  and  looked  up  to  the  sky. 
Suddenly  a  few  great  drops  fell  —  it  ^as  hard  to  say 
whence.  The  scattered  clouds  had  been  drawing  a 


394  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

little  nearer  the  sun,  growing  whiter  as  they  ap- 
proached him,  and  more  had  ascended  from  the  hori- 
zon into  the  middle  air,  blue  sky  abounding  between 
them.  A  swift  rain,  like  a  rain  of  the  early  summer, 
began  to  fall,  and  grew  to  a  heavy  shower.  They 
were  glorious  drops  that  made  that  shower;  for  the 
sun  shone,  and  every  drop  was  a  falling  gem,  shining, 
sparkling  like  a  diamond  as  it  fell.  It  was  a  bounteous 
rain,  coming  from  near  the  zenith,  and  falling  in 
straight  lines,  direct  from  heaven  to  earth.  It  wanted 
but  sound  to  complete  its  charm,  and  that  the  bells 
of  the  heather  gave,  set  ringing  by  the  drops.  The 
heaven  was  filled  with  blue  windows,  and  the  rain 
seemed  to  come  from  them  rather  than  from  the  clouds. 
Into  the  rain  rose  the  heads  of  the  mountains,  each 
clothed  in  its  surplice  of  thin  mist ;  they  seemed  rising  on 
tiptoe  heavenward,  in  their  eagerness  to  drink  of  the 
high-born  comfort ;  for  the  rain  comes  down,  not  upon 
the  mown  grass  only,  but  upon  the  solitary  and  desert 
places  also,  where  grass  will  never  be  — "  the  play- 
grounds of  the  young  angels,"  Rob  called  them. 

"  Do  come  in,"  said  Christina ;  "  you  will  get  quite 
wet !  " 

He  turned  towards  her.  She  stepped  back,  and  he 
entered.  Like  one  a  little  weary,  he  sat  down  on  Hec- 
tor's old  chair. 

"Is  anything  the  matter?"  asked  Christina,  with 
genuine  concern. 

She  saw  that  he  was  not  quite  like  himself,  that 
there  was  an  unusual  expression  on  his  face.  He  gave 
a  faint  apologetic  smile. 

"  As  I  stood  there,"  he  answered,  "  a  strange  feeling 
came  over  me  —  a  foreboding,  I  suppose  you  would 
call  it." 


PASSION    AND    PATIENCE.  395 

He  paused,  Christina  grew  pale,  and  said, 

"  Won't  you  tell  me  what  it  was  ?  " 

"  It  was  an  odd  kind  of  conviction  that  the  next  time 
I  stood  there,  it  would  not  be  in  the  body.  —  I  think  I 
shall  not  come  back." 

"  Come  back ! "  echoed  Christina,  fear  beginning  to 
sip  at  the  cup  of  her  heart.  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  start  for  Canada  next  week." 

She  turned  deadly  white,  and  put  out  her  hands, 
feeling  blindly  after  support.  Ian  started  to  his  feet. 

"  We  have  tired  you  out ! "  he  said  in  alarm,  and 
took  her  by  both  hands  to  place  her  in  the  chair. 

She  did  not  hear  him.  The  world  had  grown  dark 
about  her,  a  hissing  noise  was  in  her  ears,  and  she  would 
have  fallen,  had  he  not  put  his  arm  round  her.  The 
moment  she  felt  supported,  she  began  to  come  to  her- 
self. There  was  no  pretence,  however,  no  coquetry,  in 
her  faintness.  Neither  w^as  it  aught  but  misery  and 
affection  that  made  her  lay  her  head  on  lan's  shoulder, 
and  burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  weeping.  Unused  to  real 
emotion,  familiar  only  with  the  poverty-stricken,  false 
emotion  of  conquest  and  gratified  vanity,  when  the  real 
emotion  came  she  did  not  know  how  to  deal  with  it, 
and  it  overpowered  her. 

"Oh!  oh!"  she  cried  at  length  between  her  sobs, 
"  I  am  ashamed  of  myself !  I  can't  help  it !  I  can't 
help  it !  What  will  you  think  of  me !  I  have  disgraced 
myself!" 

Ian  had  been  far  from  any  suspicion  of  the  state  of 
things,  but  he  had  had  too  much  sorrowful  experience 
to  be  able  to  keep  his  unwilling  eyes  closed  to  this  new 
consternation.  The  cold  shower  seemed  to  flood  his 
soul ;  the  bright  drops  descending  with  such  swiftness 
of  beauty,  instinct  with  sun-life,  turned  into  points  of 


396  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

icy  steel  that  pierced  his  heart.  But  he  must  not  heed 
himself !  he  must  speak  to  her !  He  must  say  some- 
thing through  the  terrible  shroud  that  infolded  them ! 

"  You  are  as  safe  with  rne,"  he  faltered,  "  —  as  safe 
as  with  your  mother !  " 

"I  believe  it!  I  know  it,"  she  answered,  still  sob- 
bing, but  looking  up  with  an  expression  of  genuine  in- 
tegrity such  as  he  had  never  seen  on  her  face  before. 
"  But  I  am  sorry ! "  she  went  on.  "  It  is  very  weak, 
and  very,  very  un  —  un  —  womanly  of  me!  But  it 
came  upon  me  all  at  once !  If  I  had  only  had  some 
warning !  Oh,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  before  ?  Why 
did  you  not  prepare  me  for  it  ?  You  might  have  known 
what  it  would  be  to  hear  it  so  suddenly ! " 

More  and  more  aghast  grew  Ian  !  "What  was  to  be 
done  ?  What  was  to  be  said  ?  What  was  left  for  a 
man  to  do,  when  a  woman  laid  her  soul  before  him  ? 
Was  there  nothing  but  a  lie  to  save  her  from  bitterest 
humiliation  ?  To  refuse  any  woman  was  to  Ian  a  hard 
task ;  once  he  had  found  it  impossible  to  refuse  even 
where  he  could  not  give,  and  had  let  a  woman  take  his 
soul !  Thank  God,  she  took  it  indeed !  he  yielded  him- 
self perfectly,  and  God  gave  him  her  in  return !  But 
that  was  once,  and  for  ever!  It  could  not  be  done 
again ! 

"  I  am  very  sorry ! "  he"f  altered ;  and  the  words  and 
their  tone  sent  a  shiver  through  the  heart  of  Christina. 

But  now  that  she  had  betrayed  her  secret,  the  pent- 
up  tide  of  her  phantasy  rushed  to  the  door.  She  was 
reckless.  Used  to  everything  her  own  way,  knowing 
nothing  of  disappointment,  a  new  and  ill  understood 
passion  dominating  her,  she  let  everything  go  and  the 
torrent  sweep  her  with  it.  Passion,  like  a  lovely  wild 
beast  had  mastered  her,  and  she  never  thought  of  try- 


PASSION    AND    PATIENCE.  397 

ing  to  tame  it.  It  was  herself !  there  was  not  enough 
of  her  outside  the  passion  to  stand  up  against  it !  She 
began  to  see  the  filmy  eyed  Despair,  and  had  neither 
experience  to  deal  with  herself,  nor  reticence  enough 
to  keep  silence. 

"  If  you  speak  to  me  like  that,"  she  cried,  "  my  heart 
will  break !  —  Must  you  go  away  ?  " 

"  Dear  Miss  Palmer, "  faltered  Ian. 

"  Oh ! "  she  ejaculated,  with  a  world  of  bitterness  in 
the  protest. 

"  —  do  let  us  be  calm,"  continued  Ian.  "  We  shall 
not  come  to  anything  if  we  lose  ourselves  this  way ! " 

The  we  and  the  us  gave  her  a  little  hope. 

"  How  can  I  be  calm  ! "  she  cried.  "  I  am  not  cold- 
hearted  like  you!  —  You  are  going  away,  and  I  shall 
never  see  you  again  to  all  eternity ! " 

She  burst  out  weeping  afresh. 

"Do  love  me  a  little  before  you  go,"  she  sobbed. 
"  You  gave  me  my  life  once,  but  that  does  not  make  it 
right  to  take  it  from  me  again !  It  only  gives  you  a 
right  to  its  best ! " 

She  stopped. 

"  God  knows,"  said  Ian,  "  if  my  life  could  serve  you, 
I  should  count  it  a  small  thing  to  yield! — But  this  is 
idle  talk !  A  man  must  not  pretend  anything !  We 
must  not  be  untrue ! " 

She  fancied  he  did  not  believe  in  her. 

"  I  know !  I  know !  you  may  well  distrust  me  ! "  she 
returned.  "  I  have  often  behaved  abominably  to  you ! 
But  indeed  I  am  true  now !  I  dare  not  tell  you  a  lie. 
To  you  I  must  speak  the  truth,  for  I  love  you  with  my 
whole  soul." 

Ian  stood  dumb.  His  look  of  consternation  and  sad- 
ness brought  her  to  herself  a  little. 


398  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  What  have  I  done ! "  she  cried,  and  drawing  back 
a  pace,  stood  looking  at  him,  and  trembling.  "  I  am 
disgraced  for  ever !  I  have  told  a  man  I  love  him,  and 
he  leaves  me  to  the  shame  of  it !  He  will  not  save  me 
from  it!  he  will  not  say  one  word  to  take  it  away! 
Where  is  your  generosity,  Ian  ?  " 

"  I  must  be  true ! "  said  Ian,  speaking  as  if  to  him- 
self, and  in  a  voice  altogether  unlike  his  own. 

"  You  will  not  love  me !  You  hate  me !  You  de- 
spise me  !  But  I  will  not  live  rejected  !  He  brushes 
me  like  a  feather  from  his  coat ! " 

"Hear  me,"  said  Ian,  trying  to  recover  himself.. 
"  Do  not  think  me  insensible " 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  know ! "  cried  Christina  yet  more  bit- 
terly ;  "  —  insensible  to  the  honor  I  do  yoit,  and  all  that 
world  of  nothing!  Pray  use  your  victory!  Lord  it 
over  me !  I  am  the  weed  under  your  foot !  I  beg  you 
will  not  spare  me !  Speak  out  what  you  think  of  me !  " 

Ian  took  her  hand.  It  trembled  as  if  she  would  pull 
it  away,  and  her  eyes  flashed  an  angry  fire.  She  looked 
more  nearly  beautiful  than  ever  he  had  seen  her !  His 
heart  was  like  to  break.  He  drew  her  to  the  chair,  and 
taking  a  stool,  sat  down  beside  her.  Then,  with  a 
voice  that  gathered  strength  as  he  proceeded,  he  said : 

"  Let  me  speak  to  you,  Christina  Palmer,  as  in  the 
presence  of  him  who  made  us!  To  pretend  I  loved 
you  would  be  easier  than  to  bear  the  pain  of  giving 
you  such  pain.  Were  I  selfish  enough,  I  could  take 
much  delight  in  your  love  ;  but  I  scorn  the  unmanliness 
of  accepting  gold  and  returning  silver :  my  love  is  not 
mine  to  give." 

It  was  some  relief  to  her  proud  heart  to  imagine  he 
would  have  loved  her  had  he  been  free.  But  she  did 
not  speak. 


PASSION    AND    PATIENCE.  399 

"  If  I  thought,"  pursued  Ian,  "  that  I  had,  by  any 
behavior  of  mine,  been  to  blame  for  this,  —  "  There  he 
stopped,  lest  he  should  seem  to  lay  blame  on  her.  —  "I 
think,"  he  resumed,  "  I  could  help  you  if  you  would 
listen  to  me.  Were  I  in  like  trouble  with  you,  I  would 
go  into  my  room,  and  shut  the  door,  and  tell  my  Father 
in  heaven  everything  about  it.  Ah,  Christina !  if  you 
knew  him  you  would  not  break  your  heart  that  a  man 
did  not  love  you  just  as  you  loved  him." 

Had  not  her  misery  been  so  great,  had  she  not  also 
done  the  thing  that  humbled  her  before  herself,  Chris- 
tina would  have  been  indignant  with  the  man  who  re- 
fused her  love  and  dared  speak  to  her  of  religion ;  but 
she  was  now  too  broken  for  resentment. 

The  diamond  rain  was  falling,  the  sun  was  shining  in 
his  vaporous  strength,  and  the  great  dome  of  heaven 
stood  fathomless  above  the  pair ;  but  to  Christina  the 
world  was  black  and  blank  as  the  gloomy  hut  in  which 
they  sat.  When  first  her  love  blossomed  she  saw  the 
world  open  ;  she  looked  into  its  heart ;  she  saw  it  alive 
—  saw  it  burning  with  that  which  made  the  bush  alive 
in  the  desert  of  Horeb  —  the  presence  of  the  living 
God ;  now,  the  vision  was  over,  the  desert  was  dull  and 
dry,  the  bush  burned  no  more,  the  glowing  lava  had 
cooled  to  unsightly  stone !  There  was  no  God,  nor 
any  man  more !  Time  had  closed  and  swept  the  world 
into  the  limbo  of  vanity!  For  a  time  she  sat  with- 
out thought,  as  it  were  in  a  mental  sleep.  She  opened 
her  eyes,  and  the  blank  of  creation  stared  into  the  very 
heart  of  her.  The  emptiness  and  loneliness  overpow- 
ered her.  Hardly  aware  of  what  she  was  doing,  she 
slid  to  her  knees  at  lan's  feet,  crying, 

"  Save  me,  save  me,  Ian !  I  shall  go  mad !  Pardon 
me !  Help  me !  " 


400  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  All  a  man  may  be  to  his  sister  I  am  ready  to  be  to 
you.  I  will  write  to  you  from  Canada ;  you  can  answer 
me  or  not  as  you  please.  My  heart  cries  out  to  me  to 
take  you  in  my  arms  and  comfort  you,  but  I  must  not ; 
it  would  not  comfort  you." 

"  You  do  not  despise  me,  then? —  Oh,  thank  you !  " 

"  Despise  you  !  —  no  more  than  my  dead  sister  !  I 
would  cherish  you  as  I  would  her  were  she  in  like  sor- 
row. I  would  die  to  save  you  this  grief  —  except 
indeed  that  I  hope  much  from  it." 

"Forget  all  about  me,"  said  Christina. 

"I  will  not  forget  you.  It  is  impossible,  nor  would 
I  if  I  could." 

"  You  forgive  me  then,  and  will  not  think  ill  of  me?" 

"  How  forgive  trust  ?    Is  that  an  offence  ?  " 

"  I  have  lost  your  good  opinion !  How  could  I  de- 
grade myself  so ! " 

"  On  the  contrary,  you  are  fast  gaining  my  good 
opinion.  You  have  begun  to  be  a  true  woman ! " 

"  What  if  it  should  be  only  for " 

"  Whatever  it  may  have  been  for,  now  you  have 
tasted  truth  you  will  not  turn  back  ! " 

"  Now  I  know  you  do  not  care  for  me,  I  fear  I  shall 
soon  sink  back  into  my  old  self !  " 

"I  do  care  for  you,  Christina,  and  you  will  not 
sink  back  into  your  old  self.  God  means  you  to  be  a 
strong,  good  woman  —  able,  with  the  help  he  will  give 
you,  to  bear  grief  in  a  great-hearted  fashion.  Believe 
me,  you  and  I  may  come  nearer  each  other  in  the  ages 
before  us  by  being  both  true,  than  is  possible  in  any 
other  way  whatever." 

"  I  am  miserable  at  the  thought  of  what  you  must 
think  of  me !  Everybody  would  say  I  had  done  a 
shameless  thing  in  confessing  my  love ! " 


PASSION   AND    PATIENCE.  401 

"  I  am  not  in  the  way  of  thinking  as  everybody 
thinks.  There  is  little  justice,  and  less  sympathy,  to 
be  had  from  everybody.  I  would  think  and  judge  and 
feel  as  the  one,  my  Master.  Be  sure  you  are  safe  with 
me." 

"  You  will  not  tell  anybody  ?  " 

"  You  must  trust  me." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon !     I  have  offended  you  !  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  But  I  will  bind  myself  by  no  prom- 
ises. I  am  bound  already  to  be  as  careful  over  you  as 
if  you  were  the  daughter  of  my  father  and  mother. 
Your  confession,  instead  of  putting  you  in  my  power, 
makes  me  your  servant." 

By  this  time  Christina  was  calm.  There  was  a  great 
load  on  her  heart,  but  somehow  she  was  aware  of  the 
possibility  of  carrying  it.  She  looked  up  gratefully  in 
lan's  face,  already  imagining  to  feel  for  him  a  reverence 
which  made  it  easier  to  forego  the  right  to  put  her  arms 
round  him.  And  therewith  awoke  in  her  the  first  move- 
ment of  divine  relationship  — rose  the  first  heave  of  the 
child-heart  towards  the  source  of  its  being.  It  appeared 
in  the  form  of  resistance.  Complaint  against  God  is  far 
nearer  to  God  than  indifference  about  him. 

"  Ian.  Macruadh,"  said  Christina  solemnly,  and  she 
looked  him  in  the  eyes  as  she  said  it,  "  how  can  you 
believe  there  is  a  God  ?  If  there  were,  would  he  allow 
such  a  dreadful  thing  to  befall  one  of  his  creatures? 
How  am  I  to  blame  ?  I  could  not  help  it !  " 

"  I  see  in  it  his  truth  and  goodness  towards  his  child. 
And  he  will  let  you  see  it.  The  thing  is  between  him 
and  you." 

"  It  will  be  hard  to  convince  me  it  is  either  good  or 
loving  to  make  anyone  suffer  like  this !  "  protested 
Christina,  her  hand  unconsciously  pressed  on  her  heart ; 


402  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  and  all  the  disgrace  of  it  too  !  "  she  added  bitterly. 

"I  will  not  allow  there  is  any  disgrace,"  returned 
Ian.  "  But  I  will  not  try  to  convince  you  of  anything 
about  God.  I  cannot.  You  must  know  him.  I  only 
say  I  believe  in  him  with  all  my  heart.  You  must  ask 
him  to  explain  himself  to  you,  and  not  take  it  for 
granted,  because  he  has  done  what  you  do  not  like, 
that  he  has  done  you  a  wrong.  Whether  you  see  him 
or  not,  he  will  do  you  justice ;  but  he  cannot  explain 
himself  except  you  seek  him." 

"  I  think  I  understand.  Believe  me,  I  am  willing  to 
understand*" 

A  few  long  seconds  of  silence  followed.  Christina 
came  a  little  nearer.  She  was  still  on  her  knees. 

"  Will  you  kiss  me  once,"  she  said,  "  as  you  would  a 
little  child ! " 

"  In  the  name  of  God  ! "  answered  Ian,  and  stooping 
kissed  her  gently  and  tenderly. 

"  Thank  you  !  "  she  said,  and  "  —  Now  the  rain  is 
over,  let  us  join  Mercy  and  the  chief.  I  hope  they 
have  not  got  very  wet !  " 

"  Alister  will  have  taken  care  of  that.  There  is 
plenty  of  shelter  about  here." 

They  left  the  cottage,  drew  the  door  close,  and 
through  the  heather,  sparkling  with  a  thousand  rain- 
drops, the  sun  shining  hotter  than  ever  through  the 
rain-mist,  went  up  the  hill. 

They  found  the  other  pair  sheltered  by  the  great 
stone,  which  was  not  only  a  shadow  from  the  heat,  but 
sloped  sufficiently  to  be  a  cover  from  the  rain.  They 
did  not  know  it  had  ceased ;  perhaps  they  did  not  know 
it  had  rained. 

On  a  fine  morning  of  the  following  week,  the  emi- 
grants began  the  first  stage  of  their  long  journey,  the 


PASSION   AND    PATIENCE.  403 

women  in  two  carts,  with  their  small  impedimenta,  the 
men  walking  —  Ian  with  them,  a  stout  stick  in  his  hand. 
They  were  to  sail  from  Greenock. 

Ian  and  Christina  met  several  times  before  he  left, 
but  never  alone.  No  conference  of  any  kind,  not  even 
of  eyes,  had  been  sought  by  Christina,  and  Ian  had  re- 
solved to  say  nothing  more  until  he  reached  Canada. 
Thence  he  would  write  things  which  pen  and  ink  would 
say  better  and  carry  nearer  home  than  could  speech ; 
and  by  that  time  too  the  first  bitterness  of  her  pain 
would  have  dulled,  and  left  her  mind  more  capable  of 
receiving  them.  He  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  gen- 
tle calm  of  her  behavior.  No  one  else  could  have  seen 
any  difference  toward  himself  :  he  read  in  her  carriage 
that  of  a  child  who  had  made  a  mistake,  and  was  hum- 
bled, not  vexed.  Her  mother  noted  that  her  cheek  was 
pale,  and  that  she  seemed  thoughtful,  but  farther  she  did 
not  penetrate.  To  Ian  it  was  plain  that  she  had  set  Iier- 
self  to  be  reasonable. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

« 

LOVE    GLOOMING. 

IAIN",  the  light  of  his  mother's  eyes  was  gone,  and  she 
felt  forsaken.  Alister  was  too  much  occupied  with 
Mercy  to  feel  his  departure  as  on  former  occasions,  yet 
he  missed  him  every  hour  of  the  day.  Mercy  and  he 
met,  but  not  for  some  time  in  open  company,  as  Chris- 
tina refused  to  go  near  the  cottage.  Things  were  ripe- 
ning to  a  change. 

Alister's  occupation  with  Mercy,  however,  was  far 
from  absorption :  the  moment  Ian  was  gone,  he  increased 
his  attention  to  his  mother,  feeling  she  had  but  him. 
But  his  mother  was  not  quite  the  same  to  him  now. 
At  times  she  was  even  more  tender  ;  at  other  times  she 
seemed  to  hold  him  away  from  her,  as  one  with  whom 
she  was  not  in  sympathy.  The  fear  awoke  in  him  that 
she  might  so  speak  to  some  one  of  the  Palmers  as  to 
raise  an  insuperable  barrier  between  the  families ;  and 
this  fear  made  him  resolve  to  come  at  once  to  an  under- 
standing with  Mercy.  The  resulting  difficulties  might 
be  great ;  he  felt  keenly  the  possible  alternative  of  his 
loss  of  Mercy,  or  Mercy's  loss  of  her  family ;  but  the 
fact  that  he  loved  her  gave  him  a  right  to  tell  her  so, 
and  made  it  his  duty  to  lay  before  her  the  probability  of 
an  obstacle.  That  his  mother  did  not  like  the  alliance 
had  to  be  braved,  for  a  man  must  leave  father  and 
mother  and  cleave  to  his  wife  —  a  saying  commonly  by 
male  presumption  inverted.  Mercy's  love  he  believed 
404 


LOVE    GLOOMING.  405 


such  that  she  would  without  a  thought  \eave  the  luxury 
of  her  father's  house  for  the  mere  plenty  of  his.  That 
it  would  not  be  to  descend  but  to  rise  in  the  true  social 
scale  he  would  leave  her  to  discover.  Had  he  known 
what  Mr.  Palmer  was,  and  how  his  money  had  been 
made,  he  would  neither  have  sought  nor  accepted  his  ac- 
quaintance, and  it  would  no  more  have  been  possible  to 
fall  in  love  with  one  of  his  family  than  to  covet  one  of 
his  fine  horses.  But  that  which  might,  could,  would,  or 
should  have  been,  affected  in  no  way  that  which  was. 
He  had  entered  in  ignorance,  by  the  will  of  God,  into 
certain  relations  with  "  the  young  woman,"  as  his 
mother  called  her,  and  those  relations  had  to  be  followed 
to  their  natural  and  righteous  end. 

Talking  together  over  possibilities,  Mr.  Peregrine 
Palmer  had  agreed  with  his  wife  that,  Mercy  being  so 
far  from  a  beauty,  it  might  not  be  such  a  bad  match, 
would  not  at  least  be  one  to  be  ashamed  of,  if  she  did 
marry  the  impoverished  chief  of  a  highland  clan,  with 
a  baronetcy  in  his  pocket.  Having  bought  the  land 
so  cheap,  he  could  afford  to  let  a  part,  perhaps  even  the 
whole  of  it,  go  back  with  his  daughter,  thus  restoring 
to  its  former  position  an  ancient  and  honorable  family. 
The  husband  of  his  younger  daughter  would  then  be 
head  of  one  of  the  very  few  highland  families  in  pos- 
session of  their  ancestral  acres  —  a  distinction  he  would 
owe  to  Peregrine  Palmer !  It  was  a  pleasant  thought 
to  the  kindly,  consequential,  common  little  man.  Mrs. 
Palmer,  therefore,  when  the  chief  called  upon  her, 
received  him  with  more  than  her  previous  cordiality. 

His  mother  would  have  been  glad  to  see  him  return 
from  his  call  somewhat  dejected  :  he  entered  so  radiant 
and  handsome,  that  her  heart  sank  within  her.  Was 
she  actually  on  the  point  of  being  allied  through  the 


406  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

child  of  her  b^som  to  a  distiller  and  brewer  —  a  man 
who  had  grown  rich  on  the  ruin  of  thousands  of  his 
fellow-countrymen?  To  what  depths  might  not  the 
most  ancient  family  sink !  For  any  poverty,  she  said 
to  herself,  she  was  prepared  —  but  how  was  she  to  en- 
dure disgrace!  Alas  for  the  clan,  whose  history  was 
about  to  cease  —  smothered  in  the  defiling  garment  of 
ill-gotten  wealth !  Miserable,  humiliating  close  to  an- 
cient story !  She  had  no  doubt  as  to  her  son's  intentions 
although  he  had  said  nothing  :  she  knew  that  his  refusal 
of  dower  would  be  his  plea  in  justification  ;  but  would 
that  deliver  them  from  the  degrading  approval  of  the 
world?  How  many,  if  they  ever  heard  of  it,  would 
believe  that  the  poor,  high-souled  Macruadh  declined 
to  receive  a  single  hundred  from  his  father-in-law's 
affluence  !  that  he  took  his  daughter  poor  as  she  was 
born  —  his  one  stipulation  that  she  should  be  clean 
from  her  father's  mud !  For  one  to  whom  there 
would  even  be  a  chance  of  stating  the  truth  of  the 
matter,  a  hundred  would  say  — "  That's  your  plan  ! 
the  only  salvation  for  your  shattered  houses !  — 
paint  them  up  well  with  the  bird-lime  of  the  brewer, 
the  quack,  or  the  money-lender,  and  they'll  last  till 
doom'sday ! " 

Thus  bitterly  spoke  the  mother.  She  brooded  and 
scorned,  raged  inwardly,  and  took  to  herself  dishonor, 
until  plainly  she  was  wasting.  The  chief's  heart  was 
troubled.  Could  it  be  that  she  doubted  his  strength  to 
resist  temptation  ?  He  must  make  haste  and  have  the 
whole  thing  settled !  —  and  first  of  all  speak  definitely 
to  Mercy  on  the  matter. 

He  had  appointed  to  meet  her  the  same  evening,  and 
long  before  the  hour  went  to  watch  for  her  appearing. 
He  climbed  the  hill,  and  lay  down  in  the  heather 


LOVE    GLOOMING.  407 


where  he  could  see  the  door  of  the  New  House,  and 
Mercy  the  moment  she  should  come  out  of  it.  He  lay 
there  till  the  sun  was  down,  and  the  stars  began  to  ap- 
pear. At  length  —  and  even  then  it  was  many  min- 
utes to  the  time  —  he  saw  the  door  open,  and  Mercy 
walk  slowly  to  the  gate.  He  rose  and  went  down  the 
hill.  She  saw  him,  watched  him  descending,  and  the 
moment  he  reached  the  road,  went  to  meet  him.  They 
walked  slowly  down  the  road,  without  a  word  spoken, 
until  they  felt  themselves  alone. 

"  You  look  so  lovely  !  "  said  the  chief. 

"  In  the  twilight,  I  suppose  ! "  said  Mercy. 

"  Perhaps ;  you  are  a  creature  of  the  twilight,  of  the 
night  rather,  with  your  great  black  eyes !  " 

"  I  don't  like  you  to  speak  to  me  so !  You  never 
did  before  !  You  know  I  am  not  lovely !  I  am  very 
plain ! " 

She  was  evidently  not  pleased. 

"What  have  I  done  to  vex  you,  Mercy?"  he  re- 
joined. "  Why  should  you  mind  my  saying  what  is 
true  ?  " 

She  bit  her  lip,  and  could  hardly  speak  to  answer 
him.  Often  in  London  she  had  been  morally  sickened 
by  the  false  rubbish  talked  to  her  sister,  and  had  boasted 
to  herself  that  the  chief  had  never  paid  her  a  compli- 
ment :  now  he  had  done  it ! 

She  took  her  hand  from  his  arm. 

"  I  think  I  will  go  home  !  "  she  said. 

Alister  stopped  and  turned  to  her.  The  last  gleam 
of  the  west  was  reflected  from  her  eyes,  and  all  the 
sadness  of  the  fading  light  seemed  gathered  into  them. 

"  My  child ! "  he  said,  all  that  was  fatherly  in  the 
chief  rising  at  the  sight,  "  who  has  been  making  you 
unhappy  ?  " 


408  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  You,"  she  answered,  looking  him  in  the  face. 

"  How  ?  I  do  not  understand  !  "  he  returned,  gazing 
at  her  bewildered.  « 

"  You  have  just  paid  me  a  compliment  —  a  thing 
you  never  did  before  —  a  thing  I  never  heard  before 
from  any  but  a  fool !  How  could  you  say  I  was  beau- 
tiful !  You  know  I  am  not  beautiful.  It  breaks  my 
heart  to  think  you  could  say  what  you  don't  believe !  " 

"  Mercy !  "  said  the  chief,  "  if  I  said  you  were  beau- 
tiful, and  to  my  eyes  you  were  not,  it  would  yet  be 
true  ;  for  to  my  heart,  which  sees  deeper  than  my  eyes, 
you  are  more  beautiful  than  any  other  ever  was  or  ever 
will  be.  I  know  you  are  not  beautiful  in  the  world's 
meaning,  but  you  are  very  lovely,  and  it  was  lovely  I 
said  you  were  !  " 

"Lovely  because  you  love  me!  Is  that  what  you 
meant  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  and  more.  Your  eyes  are  beautiful,  and 
your  hair  is  beautiful,  and  your  expression  is  lovely. 
But  I  am  not  flattering  you  —  I  am  not  even  paying 
you  compliments,  for  those  things  are  not  yours.  God 
made  them,  and  has  given  them  to  me  ! " 

She  put  her  hand  in  his  arm  again,  and  there  was 
no  more  love-making. 

"  But  Mercy,"  said  the  chief,  whcr1  they  had  walked 
some  distance  without  speaking,  "  do  you  think  you 
could  live  here  always  and  never  see  London  again  ?  " 

"  I  would  not  care  if  London  were  scratched  out." 

"  Could  you  be  content  to  be  a  farmer's  wife  ?  " 

"  If  he  was  a  very  good  farmer,"  she  answered. 

"  Am  I  a  good  enough  farmer,  then,  to  serve  your 
turn  ?  " 

"  Good  enough  if  I  were  ten  times  better.  Do  you 
really  mean  it,  Macraudh  ?  " 


LOVE    GLOOMING.  409 


"  With  all  my  heart.  Only  there  is  one  thing  I  am 
very  anxious  about." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  How  your  father  will  take  my  condition." 

"  He  will  allow,  I  think,  that  it  is  good  enough  for 
me  —  and  more  than  I  deserve." 

"  That  is  not  what  I  mean ;  it  is  —  that  I  have  a 
certain  condition  to  make." 

"  Else  you  won't  marry  me  ?  —  that  seems  strange ! 
Of  course  I  will  do  anything  you  would  wish  me  to  do ! 
—  A  condition!"  she  repeated  ponderingly,  with  just 
a  little  dissatisfaction  in  the  tone. 

Alister  wondered  she  was  not  angry.  But  she  trusted 
him  too  well  to  take  offence  readily. 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Alister,  "  a  condition !  Terms  belong 
naturally  to  the  giver,  not  the  petitioner.  I  hope  with 
all  my  heart  it  will  not  offend  him.  It  will  not  offend 
you,  I  think." 

"  Let  me  hear  your  condition,"  said  Mercy,  looking 
at  him  curiously,  her  honest  eyes  shining  in  the  faint 
light. 

"  I  want  him  to  let  me  take  you  just  as  you  are, 
without  having  to  take  a  shilling  of  his  money  to  spoil 
the  gift.  I  want  you  in  and  for  yourself." 

"  I  dare  not  think  you  one  who  would  rather  not  be 
obliged  to  his  wife  for  anything  !  "  said  Mercy  :  "  that 
cannot  be  it !  " 

She  spoke  with  just  a  shade  of  displeasure.  He  did 
not  answer.  He  was  in  great  dread  of  hurting  her,  and 
his  plain  reason  could  not  fail  to  hurt  her. 

"  Well,"  she  resumed,  "there  are  fathers,  I  dare  say, 
who  would  not  count  that  a  hard  condition  !  " 

"  Of  course  your  father  will  not  like  the  idea  of  your 
marrying  so  poor  a  man ! " 


410  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  If  he  should  insist  on  your  having  something  with 
me,  you  will  not  refuse  —  will  you  ?  Why  should  you 
mind  it?" 

Alister  was  silent ;  the  thing  had  already  begun  to  grow 
dreadful !  How  could  he  tell  her  his  reasons !  Was  it 
necessary  to  tell  her  ?  If  he  had  to  explain,  it  must  be 
to  her  father,  not  to  her?  How  until  absolutely  com- 
pelled, reveal  the  horrible  fact  that  her  father  was 
despised  by  her  lover !  She  might  believe  it  her  part 
to  refuse  such  love !  He  trembled  lest  Mercy  should 
urge  him.  But  she,  thinking  she  had  been  very  bold 
already,  also  held  her  peace. 

They  tried  to  talk  about  other  things,  but  with  like 
success,  and  when  they  parted,  it  was  with  a  sense  on 
both*  sides  that  something  had  got  between  them.  The 
night  through  Mercy  hardly  slept  for  trying  to  discover 
what  his  aversion  to  her  dowry  might  mean.  No 
princedom  was  worth  contrasting  with  poverty  and  her 
farmer-chief,  but  why  should  not  his  love  be  able  to 
carry  her  few  thousands  ?  It  was  impossible  his  great 
soul  should  grudge  his  wife's  superiority  in  the  one  poor 
trifle  of  money !  was  not  the  whole  family  superior  to 
money !  Had  she,  alas !  been  too  confident  in  their 
greatness  ?  Must  she  be  brought  to  confess  that  their 
grand  ways  had  their  little  heart  of  pride  ?  Did  they 
not  regard  themselves  as  the  ancient  aristocracy  of  the 
country  !  Yes,  it  must  be  the  chief  despised  the  origin 
of  her  father's  riches  ! 

But,  although  so  far  in  the  direction  of  the  fact,  she  had 
no  suspicion  of  anything  more  than  landed  pride  look- 
ing down  upon  manufacture  and  trade :  she  suspected 
no  moral  root  of  even  a  share  in  the  chief's  difficulty. 
Naturally,  she  was  offended.  How  differently  Chris- 
tina would  have  met  the  least  hint  of  a  condition  !  she 


LOVE    GLOOMING.  411 


thought.  She  had  been  too  ready  to  show  and  confess 
her  love  !  Had  she  stood  off  a  little,  she  might  have 
escaped  this  humiliation  ?  But  would  that  have  been 
honest  ?  Must  she  not  first  of  all  be  true  ?  Was  the 
chief,  whatever  his  pride,  capable  of  being  ungenerous  ? 
Questions  like  these  kept  coming  and  going  throughout 
the  night.  Hither  and  thither  went  her  thoughts,  re- 
fusing to  be  controlled.  The  morning  came,  the  sun  rose, 
and  she  could  not  find  rest.  She  had  come  to  see  how 
ideally  delightful  it  was  just  to  wait  God's  will  of  love, 
yet,  in  this  her  first  trouble,  she  actually  forgot  to  think 
of  God,  never  asked  him  to  look  after  the  thing  for 
her,  never  said,  "  Thy  will  be  done ! "  and  when  at 
length  weariness  overpowered  her,  fell  asleep  like  a 
heathen,  without  a  word  from  her  heart  to  the  heart. 

Alister  missed  Ian  sorely.  He  prayed  to  God,  but 
was  too  troubled  to  feel  him  near.  Trouble  imagined 
may  seem  easy  to  meet ;  trouble  actual  is  quite  another 
thing !  His  mother,  perhaps,  was  to  have  her  desire ; 
perhaps  Mercy  would  not  marry  a  man  who  disap- 
proved her  family  !  Between  them  already  was  what 
could  not  be  talked  about !  he  could  not  set  free  his 
heart  to  her ! 

When  Mercy  woke,  the  old  love  was  awake  also :  let 
Alister's  reason  be  what  it  might,  it  was  not  for  her  to 
resent  it !  The  life  he  led  was  so  much  grander  than  a 
life  spent  in  making  money,  that  he  must  feel  himself 
superior !  Throned  in  the  hearts,  and  influencing  the 
characters  of  men,  was  he  not  in  a  far  nobler  position 
than  money  could  give  him  ?  From  her  night  of  doubt 
and  bitterness  Mercy  issued  more  loving  and  humble. 
What  should  she  be  now,  she  said  to  herself,  if  Alister 
had  not  taught  her  ?  He  had  been  good  to  her  as  never 
father  or  brother  !  She  would  trust  him !  She  would 


412  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

believe  him  right !    Had  he  hurt  her  pride  ?    It  was  well 
her  pride  should  be  hurt !  Her  mind  was  at  rest. 

But  Alister  must  continue  in  pain  and  dread  until  he 
had  spoken  to  her  father.  Knowing  then  the  worst,  he 
might  use  argument  with  Mercy ;  the  moment  for  that 
was  not  yet  come  !  It  he  consented  that  his  daughter 
should  leave  him  undowered,  an  understanding  with 
Mercy  might  be  postponed.  When  the  honor  of  her 
husband  was  more  to  her  than  the  false  credit  of  her 
family,  when  she  had  had  time  to  understand  principles 
which,  born  and  brought  up  as  she  had  been,  she  might 
not  yet  be  able  to  see  into,  then  it  would  be  time  to 
explain.  One  with  him,  she  would  see  things  as  he  saw 
them !  Till  her  father  came,  he  would  avoid  the  sub- 
ject! 

All  the  morning  he  was  busy  in  the  cornyard  —  with 
his  hands  in  preparing  new  stances  for  ricks,  with  his 
heart  in  trying  to  content  himself  beforehand  with 
whatever  fate  the  Lord  might  intend  for  him.  As  yet 
he  was  more  of  a  Christian  philosopher  than  a  philo- 
sophical Christian.  The  thing  most  disappointing  to 
him  he  would  treat  as  the  will  of  God  for  him,  and  try 
to  make  up  his  mind  to  it,  persuading  himself  it  was 
the  right  and  best  thing  —  as  if  he  knew  it  the  will  of 
God.  He  was  thus  working  in  the  region  of  supposi- 
tion, and  not  of  revealed  duty ;  in  his  own  imagination, 
and  not  in  the  will  of  God.  If  this  'should  not  prove 
the  will  of  God  concerning  him,  then  he  was  spending 
his  strength  for  nought.  There  is  something  in  the 
very  presence  and  actuality  of  a  thing  to  make  one  able 
to  bear  it ;  but  a  man  may  weaken  himself  for  bearing 
what  God  intends  him  to  bear,  by  trying  to  bear  what 
God  does  not  intend  him  to  bear.  The  chief  was  fore- 
stalling the  morrow  like  an  unbeliever  —  not  without 


LOYE    GLOOMING.  413 


some  moral  advantage,  I  dare  say,  but  with  spiritual 
loss.  We  have  no  right  to  school  ourselves  to  an 
imaginary  duty.  When  we  do  not  know,  then  what 
he  lays  upon  us  is  not  to  know,  and  to  be  content  not 
to  know.  The  philosopher  is  he  who  lives  in  the  thought 
of  things,  the  Christian  is  he  who  lives  in  the  things 
themselves.  The  philosopher  occupies  himself  with 
God's  decree,  the  Christian  with  God's  will ;  the  phi- 
losopher with  what  God  may  intend,  the  Christian  with 
what  God  wants  him  to  do. 

The  laird  looked  up  and  there  were  the  young  ladies  ! 
it  was  the  first  time  Christina  had  come  nigh  the  cot- 
tage since  Jan's  departure. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  Macruadh,"  she  said,  "  what  makes 
Mrs.  Conal  so  spiteful  always  ?  when  we  bade  her  good 
morning  a  few  minutes  ago,  she  overwhelmed  us  with 
a  torrent  of  abuse  !  " 

" How  did  you  know  it  was  abuse?" 

"  We  understand  enough  of  Gaelic  to  know  it  was 
not  exactly  blessing  us  she -was.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
know  cat-language  to  distinguish  between  purring  and 
spitting !  What  harm  have  we  done  ?  Her  voice  was 
fierce !  and  her  eyes  like  two  live  peats  flaming  at  us  ! 
Do  speak  to  her." 

"  It  would  be  of  no  use  !  " 

"  Where's  the  good  of  being  chief  then  ?  I  don't  ask 
you  to  make  the  old  woman  civil,  but  I  think  you  might 
keep  her  from  insulting  your  friends !  I  begin  to  think 
your  chiefdom  a  sham !  " 

"I  doubt  indeed  if  it  reaches  to  the  tongues  of  the 
clan  !  —  But  let  us  go  and  tell  my  mother  :  she  may  be 
able  to  do  something  with  her !  " 

Christina  went  into  the  cottage ;  the  chief  drew  Mercy 
back. 


414  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  What  do  you  think  the  first  duty  of  married  peo- 
ple, Mercy  —  to  each  other,  I  mean  ?  "  he  said. 

"  To  be  always  what  they  look,"  answered  Mercy. 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  mean  actively :  what  is  it  their  first 
duty  to  do  towards  each  other  ?  " 

"  I  can't  answer  that  without  thinking." 

"  Is  it  not  each  to  help  the  other  to  do  the  will  of 
God?" 

"  I  would  say  yes  if  I  were  sure  I  really  meant  it." 

"  You  will  mean  it  one  day." 

"  Are  you  sure  God  will  teach  me  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  cares  more  to  do  that  than  anything 
else." 

"  More  than  to  save  us  ?  " 

"  What  is  saving  but  taking  us  out  of  the  dark  into 
the  light  ?  There  is  no  salvation  but  to  know  God  and 
grow  like  him." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

A   GENEROUS    DOWRY. 

THE  only  hope  of  the  chief's  mother  was  in  what 
the  girl's  father  might  say  to  her  son's  pro- 
posal. Would  not  his  pride  revolt  against  giving  his 
daughter  to  a  man  who  would  not  receive  his  blessing 
in  money? 

Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  arrived,  and  the  next  day  the 
chief  called  upon  him. 

Not  unprepared  for  the  proposal  of  the  chief,  Mercy's 
father  had  nothing  to  urge  against  it.  Her  suitor's 
name  was  almost  an  historical  one,  for  it  stood  high  in 
the  home-annals  of  Scotland ;  and  the  new  laird,  who 
had  always  a  vague  sense  of  injury  in  the  lack  of  an 
illustrious  pedigree  of  his  own  to  send  forward,  was  not 
unwilling  that  a  man  more  justly  treated  than  himself 
should  supply  the  solatium  to  his  daughter's  children. 
He  received  the  Macruadh,  therefore,  if  a  little  pom- 
pously indeed,  yet  with  kindness  ;  and  the  moment  they 
were  seated  Alister  laid  his  request  before  him. 

"  Mr.  Palmer,  "  he  said,  "  I  come  to  ask  the  hand  of 
your  daughter  Mercy.  I  have  not  much  beyond  my- 
self to  offer  her,  but  I  can  tell  you  precisely  what  there 
is." 

Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  sat  for  a  moment  looking  im- 
portant :  he  seemed  to  see  much  to  ponder  in  the  pro- 
posal. 

"  Well,  Macruadh,"  he  said  at  length,  hesitating  with 
415 


416  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

hum  and  with  haw,  "  the  thing  is  —  well,  to  speak  the 
truth,  you  take  me  a  good  deal  by  surprise  !  I  do  not 
know  how  the  thing  may  appear  to  Mrs.  Palmer ;  and 
then  the  girl  herself,  you  will  allow,  ought,  in  a  free 
country,  to  have  a  word  in  the  matter  !  —  we  give  our 
girls  absolute  liberty  ;  their  own  hearts  must  guide 
them  —  that  is,  where  there  is  no  serious  exception  to 
be  taken.  Honestly,  it  is  not  the  kind  of  match  we 
should  have  chosen !  It  is  not  as  if  things  were  with 
you  now  as  once,  when  the  land  was  all  your  own,  and 
—  and  —  you  —  pardon  me,  I  am  a  father  —  did  not 
have  to  work  with  your  own  hands  ! " 

Had  he  been  there  on  any  other  errand  the  chief 
would  have  stated  his  opinion  that  it  was  degrading  to 
a  man  to  draw  income  from  anything  he  would  count  it 
degrading  to  put  his  own  hand  to;  but  there  was  so 
much  he  might  be  compelled  to  say  to  the  displeasure 
of  Mr.  Palmer  while  asking  of  him  the  greatest  gift  he 
had  to  bestow,  that  he  would  say  nothing  unpalatable 
which  he  was  not  compelled  to  say. 

"  My  ancestors,"  he  answered,  willing  to  give  the  ob- 
jection pleasant  turn,  "  would  certainly  have  preferred 
helping  themselves  to  the  produce  of  lowland  fields ! 
My  great-great-grandfather,  scorning  to  ask  any  man 
for  his  daughter,  carried  her  off  without  a  word ! " 

"  I  am  glad  the  peculiarity  has  not  shown  itself  he- 
reditary," said  Mr.  Palmer  laughing. 

"  But  if  I  have  little  to  offer,  I  expect  nothing  with 
her,"  said  the  chief  abruptly.  "  I  want  only  herself !  " 

"  A  very  loverly  way  of  speaking !  but  it  is  needless 
to  say  no  daughter  of  mine  shall  leave  me  without  a 
certainty,  one  way  or  the  other,  of  suitable  maintenance. 
You  know  the  old  proverb,  Macruadh,  —  '  When  pov- 
erty comes  in  at  the  door,' ?  " 


A   GENEROUS    DOWRY.  417 

"  There  is  hardly  a  question  of  poverty  in  the  sense 
the  proverb  intends  !  "  answered  the  chief  smiling. 

"  Of  course  !  of  course !  At  the  same  time  you  cannot 
keep  the  wolf  too  far  from  the  door.  I  would  not  for 
my  part  care  to  say  I  had  given  my  daughter  to  a  poor 
farmer  in  the  north.  Two  men,  it  is,  I  believe,  you  em- 
ploy, Macruadh  ?  " 

The  chief  answered  with  a  nod. 

"  I  have  other  daughters  to  settle  —  not  to  mention 

o 

my  sons,"  pursued  the  great  little  man  ;  "  —  but  — but 
I  will  find  a  time  to  talk  the  matter  over  with  Mrs. 
Palmer,  and  see  what  I  can  do  for  you.  Meanwhile 
you  may  reckon  you  have  a  friend  at  court ;  all  I  have 
seen  makes  me  judge  well  of  you.  Where  we  do  not 
think  alike,  I  can  yet  say  for  you  that  your  faults  lean 
to  virtue's  side,  and  are  such  as  my  daughter  at  least 
will  be  no  loser  by.  Good  morning,  Macruadh." 

Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  rose  ;  and  the  chief,  perplexed 
and  indignant,  but  anxious  not  to  prejudice  his  very 
doubtful  cause,  rose  also. 

Ci  You  scarcely  understand  me,  Mr.  Palmer,"  he  said. 

cc  On  the  possibility  of  being  honored  with  your 
daughter's  hand,  you  must  allow  me  to  say  distinctly 
beforehand,  that  I  must  decline  receiving  anything 
with  her.  When  will  you  allow  me  to  wait  upon  you 
again?" 

"  I  will  write.     Good  morning." 

The  interview  was  certainly  not  much  to  the  assuage- 
ment of  the  chiefs  anxiety.  He  went  home  with  the 
feeling  that  he  had  submitted  to  be  patronized,  almost 
insulted  by  a  paltry  fellow  whose  consequence  rested 
on  his  ill-made  money  —  a  man  who  owed  everything 
to  a  false  and  degrading  appetite  in  his  neighbors! 
Nothing  could  have  made  him  put  up  with  him  but  the 


418  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

love  of  Mercy,  his  dove  in  a  crow's  nest !  But  it  would 
be  all  in  vain,  for  he  could  not  lie !  Truth,  indeed,  if 
not  less  of  a  virtue,  was  less  of  a  heroism  in  the  chief 
than  in  most  men,  for  he  could  not  lie.  Had  he  been 
tempted  to  try,  he  would  have  reddened,  stammered, 
broken  down,  with  the  full  shame,  and  none  of  the  suc- 
cess of  a  falsehood. 

For  a  week,  he  heard  nothing :  there  seemed  small 
anxiety  to  welcome  him  into  the  Palmer  family !  Then 
came  a  letter.  It  implied,  almost  said  that  some  diffi- 
culty had  been  felt  as  to  his  reception  by  every  member 
of  the  family  —  which  the  chief  must  himself  see  to 
have  been  only  natural !  But  while  money  was  of  no 
consequence  to  Mr.  Palmer,  it  was  of  the  greatest  con- 
sequence that  his  daughter  should  seem  to  make  a  good 
match ;  therefore,  as  only  in  position  was  the  alliance 
objectionable,  he  had  concluded  to  set  that  right  for 
him,  and  in  giving  him  his  daughter,  to  restore  to  its 
former  dignity  the  chief's  family,  by  making  over  to  the 
chief  the  Clanruadh  property  now  in  his  possession  by 
purchase.  While  he  thus  did  his  duty  by  his  daughter, 
he  hoped  the  Macrtiadh  would  accept  the  arrangement 
as  a  mark  of  esteem  for  himself.  Two  conditions  only 
he  would  make  —  the  first,  that,  as  long  as  he  lived,  the 
shooting  should  be  Mr.  Palmer's,  to  use  or  to  let,  and 
should  extend  over  the  whole  of  the  estate ;  the  second, 
that  the  chief  should  assume  the  baronetcy  which  be- 
longed to  him. 

My  reader  will  regard  it  as  no  ungenerous  proposition, 
notwithstanding  that  much  the  greater  part  of  the 
money-value  of  the  gift  lay  in  the  shooting.  As  Alister 
took  leave  of  his  mother  for  the  night,  he  gave  her  the 
letter. 

She  took  it,  read  it  slowly,  laughed  angrily,  smiled 


A   GENEROUS    DOWRY.  419 

scornfully,  wept  bitterly,  crushed  it  in  her  hand,  and 
walked  up  to  her  room  with  her  head  high.  All  the 
time  she  was  preparing  for  bed,  she  was  talking  in  her 
spirit  with  her  husband.  When  she  lay  down  she 
became  a  mere  prey  to  her  own  thoughts,  and  was 
pulled,  and  torn,  and  hurt  by  them  for  hours  ere  she 
set  herself  to  rule  them.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life 
she  distrusted  her  son.  She  did  not  know  what  he 
would  do !  The  temptation  would  surely  be  too  strong 
for  him  !  Two  good  things  were  set  over  against  one 
evil  thing  —  an  evil  thing,  however,  with  which  nobody 
would  associate  blame,  an  evil  thing  which  would  raise 
him  high  in  the  respect  of  everyone  whose  respect  was 
not  worth  having!  —  the  woman  he  loved  and  the  land 
of  his  ancestors  on  the  one  side,  and  only  the  money 
that  bought  the  land  for  him  on  the  other !  —  would  he 
hold  out  ?  He  must  take  the  three  together,  or  have 
none  of  them !  Her  fear  for  him  grew  and  possessed 
her.  She  grew  cold  as  death.  Why  did  he  give  her 
the  letter,  and  go  without  saying  a  word  ?  She  knew 
well  the  arguments  he  would  adduce  !  Henceforward 
and  forever  there  would  be  a  gulf  between  them  !  The 
poor  religion  he  had  would  never  serve  to  keep  him 
straight !  What  was  it  but  a  compromise  with  pride 
and  self-sufficiency !  It  could  bear  no  such  strain !  He 
acknowledged  God,  but  not  God  reconciled  in  Christ, 
only  God  such  as  unregenerate  man  would  have  him ! 
And  when  Ian.  came  home,  he  would  be  sure  to  side 
with  Alister !  There  was  but  one  excuse  for  the  poor 
boy  —  and  that  a  miserable  one :  the  blindness  of  love  ! 
Yes,  there  was  more  excuse  than  that ;  to  be  lord  of  the 
old  lands,  with  the  old  clan  growing  and  gathering  again 
about  its  chief!  —  it  was  a  temptation  fit  to  ruin  an 
archangel !  What  could  he  not  do  then  for  his  people  ! 


420  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

What  could  he  not  do  for  her ;  for  the  land !  And  she 
might  have  her  Ian  always  at  home  with  her !  God 
forbid  she  should  buy  even  such  bliss  at  such  a  cost ! 
She  was  only  thinking,  she  said  to  herself,  how,  if  the 
thing  had  to  be,  she  would  make  the  best  of  it :  she 
was  bound  as  a  mother  to  do  that ! 

But  the  edge  of  the  wedge  was  in.  She  said  to  her- 
self afterwards,  that  the  enemy  of  her  soul  must  have 
been  lying  in  wait  for  her  that  night;  she  almost 
believed  in  some  bodily  presence  of  him  in  her  room : 
how  otherwise  could  she  account  for  her  fall !  he  must 
have  been  permitted  to  tempt  her,  because,  in  con- 
demning evil,  she  had  given  way  to  contempt  and 
worldly  pride.  Her  thoughts  unchecked  flowed  for- 
ward. They  lingered  brooding  for  a  time  on  the  joys 
that  might  be  hers  —  the  joys  of  the  mother  of  a  chief 
over  territory  as  well  as  hearts.  Then  they  stole  round, 
and  began  to  flow  the  other  way.  Ere  the  thing  had 
come  she  began  to  make  the  best  of  it  for  the  sake  of 
her  son  and  the  bond  between  them ;  then  she  began 
to  excuse  it  for  the  sake  of  the  clan ;  and  now  she 
began  to  justify  it  a  little  for  the  sake  of  the  world ! 
Everything  that  could  favor  the  acceptance  of  the 
offer  came  up  clear  before  her.  The  land  was  the 
same  as  it  always  had  been  !  it  had  never  been  in.  the 
distillery  !  it  had  never  been  in  the  brew-house  !  It  was 
clean,  whoever  had  transacted  concerning  it,  in  whatever 
hands  it  had  been!  A  good  cow  was  a  good  cow,  had 
she  been  twenty  times  reaved !  For  Mr.  Palmer  to 
give  and  Alister  to  take  the  land  back,  would  be  some 
amends  to  the  nation,  grievously  injured  in  the  money 
of  its  purchase  !  The  deed  would  restore  to  the  redeem- 
ing and  uplifting  influence  of  her  son  many  who  were 
fast  perishing  from  poverty  and  whiskey;  for,  their 


A   GENEROUS   DOWRY.  421 

house  arid  crofts  once  more  in  the  power  of  their  chief, 
he  would  again  be  their  landlord  as  well !  It  would  be 
a  pure  exercise  of  the  law  of  compensation  !  Hundreds 
who  had  gone  abroad  would  return  to  replenish  the  old 
glens  with  the  true  national  wealth — with  men  and 
women,  and  children  growing  to  be  men  and  women, 
for  the  hour  of  their  country's  need !  These  were  the 
true,  the  golden  crops !  The  glorious  time  she  had 
herself  seen  would  return,  when  Strathruadh  could 
alone  send  out  a  regiment  of  the  soldiers  that  may  be 
defeated,  but  will  not  live  to  know  it.  The  dream  of 
her  boys  would  come  true  !  they  would  rebuild  the  old 
castle,  and  make  it  a  landmark  in  the  history  of  the 
highlands ! 

But  while  she  stood  elate  upon  this  high-soaring  peak 
of  the  dark  mountains  of  ambition,  sudden  before  her 
mind's  eye  rose  the  face  of  her  husband,  sudden  his 
voice  was  in  her  ear ;  he  seemed  to  stand  above  her  in 
the  pulpit,  reading  from  the  prophet  Isaiah  —  the  four 
Woes  that  begin  four  contiguous  chapters  :  —  "  Woe 
to  the  crown  of  pride,  to  the  drunkards  of  Ephraim, 
whose  glorious  beauty  is  a  fading  flower,  which  are  on 
the  head  of  the  fat  valleys  of  them  that  are  overcome 
with  wine ! "  —  "  Woe  to  Ariel,  to  Ariel,  the  city  where 
David  dwelt !  Add  ye  year  to  year ;  let  them  kill  sac- 
rifices ;  yet  I  will  distress  Ariel."  —  "  Woe  to  the 
rebellious  children,  saith  the  Lord,  that  take  counsel, 
but  not  of  me  ;  and  that  cover  with  a  covering,  but  not 
of  my  spirit,  that  they  may  add  sin  to  sin  !  "  —  "  Woe  to 
them  that  go  down  to  Egypt  for  help ;  and  stay  on 
horses,  and  trust  in  chariots,  because  they  are  many ; 
and  in  horsemen,  because  they  are  very  strong;  but 
they  look  not  unto  the  holy  one  of  Israel,  neither  seek 
the  Lord!"  Then  followed  the  words  opening  the 


422  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MIXE. 

next  chapter  :  —  "  Behold  a  king  shall  reign  in  right- 
eousness, and  princes  shall  rule  in  judgment.  And  a 
man  shall  be  as  an  hiding  place  from  the  wind,  and  a 
covert  from  the  tempest."  All  this,  in  solemn  order, 
one  woe  after  the  other,  she  heard  in  the  very  voice  of 
her  husband  ;  in  awful  spiritual  procession,  they  passed 
before  her  listening  mind  !  She  grew  cold  as  the  dead, 
and  shuddered  and  shivered.  She  looked  over  the  edge 
into  the  heart  of  a  black  gulf,  into  which  she  had  been 
on  the  point  of  casting  herself —  say  rather,  down  whose 
side,  searching  for  an  easy  descent,  she  had  already 
slid  a  long  way,  when  the  voice  from  above  recalled 
her !  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  wept  — 
ashamed  before  God,  ashamed  before  her  husband.  It 
was  a  shame  unutterable  that  the  thing  should  even 
have  looked  tempting !  She  cried  for  forgiveness,  rose, 
and  sought  Alister's  room. 

Seldom  since  he  was  a  man  had  she  visited  her 
elder  son  in  his  chamber.  She  cherished  for  him,  as 
chief,  something  of  the  reverence  of  the  clan.  The 
same  familiarity  had  never  existed  between  them  as 
between  her  and  Ian.  Now  she  was  going  to  wake  him, 
and  hold  a  solemn  talk  with  him.  Not  a  moment 
longer  should  he  stand  leaning  over  the  gulf  into  which 
she  had  herself  well  nigh  fallen ! 

She  found  him  awake,  and  troubled,  though  not  with 
an  eternal  trouble  such  as  hers. 

"  I  thought  I  should  find  you  asleep,  Alister ! "  she 
said. 

"  It  was  not  very  likely,  mother ! "  he  answered  gen- 

tly. 

"  You  too  have  been  tried  with  terrible  thoughts  ?  " 
"  I  have  been  tried,  but  hardly  with  terrible  thoughts : 

I  know  that  Mercy  loves  me !  " 


A    GENEROUS    DOWRY.  423 

"  Ah,  my  son,  my  dear  son  !  love  itself  is  the  terri- 
ble thing !  It  has  drawn  many  a  man  from  the  way 
of  peace ! " 

"  Did  it  draw  you  and  my  father  from  the  way  of 
peace  ?  "  asked  Alister. 

"  Not  for  a  moment !  "  she  answered.  "  It  made  our 
steps  firmer  in  the  way." 

"  Then  why  should  you  fear  it  will  draw  me  from 
it?  I  hope  I  have  never  made  you  think  I  was  not 
following  my  father  and  you  ?  " 

"Who  knows  what  either  of  us  might  have  done, 
with  such  a  temptation  as  yours !  " 

"Either  you  say,  mother,  that  my  father  was  not  so 
good  as  I  think  him,  or  that  he  did  what  he  did  in  his 
own  strength ! " 

" c  Let  him  that  thinketh '  —  you  know  the  rest !  "  re- 
joined the  mother. 

"I  don't  think  I  am  tempted  to  anything  just  now." 

"  There  it  is,  you  see !  —  the  temptation  so  subtle 
that  you  do  not  suspect  its  character ! " 

"  I  am  confident  my  father  would  have  done  just  as 
I  mean  to  do !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  Is  it  my  own  mother  asks  me  ?  Does  she  distrust 
her  husband  and  her  son  together  ?  " 

It  began  to  dawn  on  the  mother  that  she  had  fallen 
into  her  own  temptation  through  the  distrust  of  her 
son.  Because  she  distrusted  him,  she  sought  excuse 
for  him,  and  excuse  had  turned  to  all  but  justification : 
she  had  given  place  to  the  devil !  But  she  must  be 
sure  about  Alister !  She  had  had  enough  of  the  wiles 
of  Satan :  she  must  not  trust  her  impressions !  The 
enemy  might  even  now  be  bent  on  deceiving  her 
afresh !  For  a  moment  she  kept  silence,  then  said :  — 


424  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"It  would  be  a  grand  thing  to  have  the  whole 
country-side  your  own  again  —  wouldn't  it,  Alister  ?  " 

"  It  would,  mother !  "  he  answered. 

"And  have  all  your  people  quite  under  your  own 
care?" 

"  A  grand  thing  indeed,  mother ! " 

"  How  can  you  say  then  it  is  no  temptation  to  you  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  none." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  I  would  not  have  my  clan  under  a  factor  of  Satan's, 
mother ! " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you  ! " 

"  What  else  should  I  be,  if  I  accepted  the  oversight 
of  them  on  terms  of  allegiance  to  him !  That  was  how 
he  tempted  Jesus.  I  will  not  be  the  devil's  steward,  to 
call  any  land  or  any  people  mine ! " 

His  mother  kissed  him  on  the  forehead,  walked 
erect  from  the  room,  and  went  to  her  own  to  hum- 
ble herself  afresh. 

In  the  morning,  Alister  took  his  dinner  of  bread  and 
cheese  in  his  pocket,  and  set  out  for  the  tomb  on  the 
hill-top.  There  he  remained  until  the  evening,  and 
wrote  his  answer,  sorely  missing  Ian. 

He  begged  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  to  dismiss  the  idea 
of  enriching  him,  thanked  him  for  his  great  liberality, 
but  declared  himself  entirely  content,  and  determined 
not  to  change  his  position :  he  could  not  and  would 
not  avail  himself  of  his  generosity. 

Mr.  Palmer,  unable  to  supect  the  reasons  at  work  in 
the  chiefs  mind,  pleased  with  the  genuineness  of  his 
acknowledgment,  and  regarding  him  as  a  silly  fellow 
who  would  quixotically  outdo  him  in  magnanimity, 
answered  in  a  more  familiar,  almost  jocular  strain.  He 
must  not  be  unreasonable,  he  said ;  pride  was  no  doubt 


A    GENEROUS    DOWRY.  425 

an  estimable  weakness,  but  it  might  be  carried  too  far ; 
men  must  act  upon  realities  not  fancies ;  he  must  learn 
to  have  an  eye  to  the  main  chance,  and  eschew  heroics : 
what  was  life  without  money !  It  was  not  as  if  he  gave 
it  grudgingly,  for  he  made  him  heartily  welcome.  The 
property  was  in  truth  but  a  flea-bite  to  him  !  He  hoped 
the  Macruadh  would  live  long  to  enjoy  it,  and  make 
his  father-in-law  the  great-grandfather  of  chiefs,  per- 
petuating his  memory  to  ages  unborn.  There  was 
more  to  the  same  effect,  void  neither  of  eloquence  nor 
of  a  certain  good-heartedness,  which  the  laird  both 
recognized  and  felt. 

o 

It  was  again  his  painful  turn.  He  had  now  to  make 
his  refusal  as  positive  as  words  could  make  it.  He 
said  he  was  sorry  to  appear  headstrong,  perhaps  un- 
civil and  ungrateful,  but  he  could  not  and  would  not 
accept  anything  beyond  the  priceless  gift  of  Mercy's 
hand. 

Not  even  then  did  Peregrine  Palmer  divine  that  his 
offered  gift  was  despised  ;  it  was  to  him  an  idea  all  but 
impossible  of  conception.  He  read  merely  opposition, 
and  was  determined  to  have  his  way.  Next  time  he 
too  wrote  positively,  though  far  from  unkindly :  — 
the  Macruadh  must  take  the  land  with  his  daughter,  or 
leave  both ! 

The  chief  replied  that  he  could  not  yield  his  claim 
to  Mercy,  for  he  loved  her  and  believed  she  loved  him ; 
therefore  begged  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer,  of  his  gener- 
osity, to  leave  the  decision  with  his  daughter. 

The  next  was  a  letter  from  Mercy,  entreating  Alister 
not  to  hurt  her  father  by  seeming  to  doubt  the  kind- 
ness of  his  intentions.  She  assured  him  her  father  was 
not  the  man  to  interfere  with  his  management  of  the 
estate ;  the  shooting  was  all  he  cared  about,  and  if  that 


426  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

was  the  difficulty,  she  imagined  even  that  might  be  got 
over.  She  ended  praying  that  he  would,  for  her  sake, 
cease  making  much  of  a  trifle,  for  such  the  greatest  prop- 
erty in  the  world  must  be  betwixt  them.  No  man,  she 
said,  could  love  a  woman  right,  who  would  not  be  under 
the  poorest  obligation  to  her  people ! 

The  chief  answered  her  in  the  tenderest  way,  assur- 
ing her  that  if  the  property  had  been  hers  he  would 
only  have  blessed  her  for  it ;  that  he  was  not  making 
much  ado  about  nothing ;  that  pride,  or  unwillingness 
to  be  indebted  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  determina- 
tion ;  that  the  thing  was  with  him  in  very  truth  a  mat- 
ter of  conscience.  He  implored  her  therefore  from 
the  botton  of  his  heart  to  do  her  best  to  persuade  her 
father  —  if  she  would  save  him  who  loved  her  more 
than  his  own  soul,  from  a  misery  God  only  could  make 
him  able  to  bear, 

Mercy  was  bewildered.  She  neither  understood  nor 
suspected.  She  wrote  again,  saying  her  father  was 
now  thoroughly  angry ;  that  she  found  herself  without 
argument,  the  thing  being  incomprehensible  to  her  as 
to  her  father ;  that  she  could  not  see  where  the  con- 
science of  the  thing  lay.  Her  terror  was,  that,  if  he 
persisted,  she  would  be  driven  to  think  he  did  not  care 
for  her;  his  behavior  she  had  tried  in  vain  to  reconcile 
with  what  he  had  taught  her  ;  if  he  destroyed  her  faith 
in  him,  all  her  faith  might  go,  and  she  be  left  without 
God  as  well  as  without  him  ! 

Then  Alister  saw  that  necessity  had  culminated,  and 
that  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  hold  anything  back. 
Whatever  other  suffering  he  might  cause  her,  Mercy 
must  not  be  left  to  think  him  capable  of  sacrificing  her 
to  an  absurdity  !  She  must  know  the  truth  of  the  mat- 
ter, and  how  it  was  to  him  of  the  deepest  conscience ! 


A    GENEROUS    DOWRY.  427 

He  must  let  her  see  that  if  he  allowed  her  to  persuade 
him,  it  would  be  to  go  about  thenceforward  consumed 
of  self-contempt,  a  slave  to  the  property,  no  more  its 
owner  than  if  he  had  stolen  it,  and  in  danger  of  com- 
mitting suicide  to  escape  hating  his  wife ! 

For  the  man  without  a  tender  conscience,  can  not 
imagine  the  state  to  which  another  may  come,  who 
carries  one  about  with  him,  stinging  and  accusing  him 
all  day  long. 

So  out  of  a  heart  aching  with  very  fulness,  Alister 
wrote  the  truth  to  Mercy.  And  Mercy,  though  it  filled 
her  with  grief  and  shame,  had  so  much  love  for  the 
truth,  and  for  the  man  who  had  waked  that  love,  that 
she  understood  him,  and  loved  him  through  all  the  pain 
of  his  words ;  loved  him  the  more  for  daring  the  risk 
of  losing  her ;  loved  him  yet  the  more  for  cleaving  to 
her,  while  loathing  the  mere  thought  of  sharing  her 
wealth  ;  loved  him  most  of  all  that  he  was  immaculate 
in  truth. 

She  carried  the  letter  to  her  father's  room,  laid  it 
before  him  without  a  word,  and  went  out  again. 

The  storm  gathered  swiftly,  and  burst  at  once.  Not 
two  minutes  seemed  to  have  passed  when  she  heard  his 
door  open  and  a  voice  of  wrathful  displeasure  call  out 
her  name.  She  returned  —  in  fear,  but  in  fortitude. 

Then  first  she  knew  her  father !  —  for  although  wrath 
and  injustice  were  at  home  in  him,  they  seldom  showed 
themselves  out  of  doors.  He  treated  her  as  a  willing 
party  to  an  unspeakable  insult  from  a  highland  boor  to 
her  own  father.  To  hand  him  such  a  letter  was  the 
same  as  to  have  written  it  herself !  she  identified  her- 
self with  the  writer  when  she  became  the  bearer  of  the 
mangy  hound's  insolence !  He  raged  at  Mercy  as  in 
truth  he  had  never  raged  before.  If  once  she  spoke  to 


428  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

the  fellow  again,  he  would  turn  her  out  of  the  house ! 

She  would  have  left  the  room.  He  locked  the  door, 
set  a  chair  before  his  writing-table,  and  ordered  her  to 
sit  therexand  write  to  his  dictation.  But  no  power  on 
earth  or  under  it  would  have  prevailed  to  make  Mercy 
write  as  her  own  the  words  that  were  not  hers. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  papa ! "  she  said  in  a  tone 
unheard  from  her  before. 

This  raising  of  the  rampart  of  human  dignity,  crowned 
with  refusal,  between  him  and  his  own  child,  galled  him 
afresh. 

"  Then  you  shall  be  compelled ! "  he  said,  with  an 
oath  through  his  clenched  teeth. 

Mercy  stood  silent  and  motionless. 

"  Go  to  your  room.  By  heaven  you  shall  stay  there 
till  you  do  as  I  tell  you !  " 

He  was  between  her  and  the  door. 

"  You  need  not  think  to  gain  your  point  by  obsti- 
nacy," he  added.  "  I  swear  that  not  another  word 
shall  pass  between  you  and  that  blockhead  of  a  chief 
not  if  I  have  to  turn  watch-dog  myself!" 

He  made  way  for  her,  but  did  not  open  the  door. 
She  left  the  room  too  angry  to  cry,  and  went  to  her 
own.  Her  fear  of  her  father  had  vanished.  With 
Alister  on  her  side  she  could  stand  against  the  world  ! 
She  went  to  her  window.  She  could  not  see  the  cot- 
tage from  it,  but  she  could  see  the  ruin,  and  the  hill  of 
the  crescent  fire,  on  which  she  had  passed  through  the 
shadow  of  death.  Gazing  on  the  hill  she  remembered 
what  Alister  would  have  her  do,  and  with  her  Father 
in  heaven  sought  shelter  from  her  father  on  earth. 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

MISTKESS    CONAL. 

MR.  PEREGRINE  PALMER'S  generosity  had 
in  part  rested  on  the  idea  of  securing  the  estate 
against  reverse  of  fortune  sufficiently  possible  though 
not  expected  ;  while  with  the  improvements  almost  in 
hand,  the  shooting  would  make  him  a  large  return. 
He  felt  all  the  more  wronged  by  the  ridiculous  scruples 
of  the  chief  —  in  which  after  all,  though  he  could  not 
have  said  why,  he  did  not  quite  believe.  It  never 
occurred  to  him  that,  even  had  the  land  been  so  come 
by  that  the  chief  could  accept  a  gift  of  it,  he  would, 
upon  the  discovery  that  it  had  been  so  secured  from  his 
creditors,  at  once  have  insisted  on  placing  it  at  their 
disposal. 

His  wrath  proceeded  to  vent  itself  in  hastening  the 
realization  of  his  schemes  of  improvement,  for  he  was 
well  aware  they  would  be  worse  than  distasteful  to  the 
Macruadh :  their  first  requirement  was  the  removal  of 
every  peasant  within  his  power  capable  of  violating  the 
sanctity  of  the  deer  forest  into  which  he  and  his  next 
neighbor  had  agreed  to  turn  the  whole  of  their  property. 
While  the  settlement  of  his  daughter  was  pending,  he 
had  seen  that  the  point  might  cause  trouble  unless  pre- 
viously understood  between  him  and  the  chief ;  but  he 
never  doubted  the  recovery  of  the  land  would  reconcile 
the  latter  to  the  loss  of  the  men  :  now  he  chuckled 
with  wrathful  chuckle  to  think  how  entirely  he  had  him 

429 


430  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

in  his  power  for  justifiable  annoyance  :  he  believed 
himself  about  to  do  nothing  but  good  to  the  country  in 
removing  from  it  its  miserable  inhabitants,  whom  the 
sentimental  indulgence  of  their  so-called  chief  kept  con- 
tented with  their  poverty,  and  with  whom  interference 
must  now  enrage  him.  How  he  hated  the  whole 
wretched  pack. 

"What  Mr.  Palmer's  doing  of  good  to  the  country 
meant  was  the  enabling  of  the  land  to  put  more  money 
in  the  pockets  of  Mr.  Smith  and  himself  by  feeding 
wild  animals  instead  of  men.  To  tell  such  landowners 
that  they  are  simply  running  a  tilt  at  the  creative 
energy,  can  be  of  no  use :  they  do  not  believe  in  God, 
however  much  they  may  protest  and  imagine  they  do. 

The  next  day  but  one,  he  sent  Mistress  Conal  the 
message  that  she  must  be  out  of  her  hut,  goods  and 
gear,  within  a  fortnight.  He  was  not  sure  that  the 
thing  was  legally  correct,  but  he  would  risk  it.  She 
might  go  to  law  if  she  would,  but  he  would  at  once 
with  her  begin  !  The  chief  might  take  up  her  quarrel 
if  he  chose :  nothing  would  please  Mr.  Palmer  more 
than  to  involve  him  in  a  law-suit,  clear  him  out,  and 
send  him  adrift !  His  money  might  be  contemptible, 
but  the  chief  should  find  it  at  least  dangerous !  Con- 
tempt would  not  -stave  off  a  land-slip. 

Mistress  Conal,  with  a  rage  and  scorn  that  made  her 
feel  every  inch  a  witch,  and  accompanied  by  her  black 
cat,  which  might  or  might  not  be,  the  innocent  animal 
the  neighbors  did  not  think  him,  hurried  to  the  Mac- 
ruadh,  and  informed  him  that  "  the  lowland  thief  "  had 
given  her  notice  to  quit  the  house  of  her  fathers  within 
a  fortnight. 

"  I  fear  much  we  cannot  help  it !  the  house  is  on  his 
land  !  "  said  the  chief  sorrowfully. 


MISTRESS    COXAL.  431 


"  His  land  !  "  echoed  the  old  woman.  "  Is  the  nest  of 
the  old  eagle  his  land  ?  Can  he  make  his  heather  white 
or  his  ptarmigan  black  ?  Will  he  dry  up  the  lochs,  and 
stay  the  rivers  ?  Will  he  remove  the  mountains  from 
their  places,  or  cause  the  generations  of  men  to  cease 
from  the  earth  ?  Defend  me,  chief  !  I  come  to  you 
for  the  help  that  was  never  sought  in  vain  from  the 
Macruadh !  " 

"  What  help  I  have  is  yours  without  the  asking,"  re- 
turned the  chief.  "I  cannot  do  more  than  is  in  my 
power  !  One  thing  only  I  can  promise  you  —  that  you 
shall  lack  neither  food  nor  shelter." 

"  My  chief  will  abandon  me  to  the  wolf !  "  she  cried. 

"  Never !  But  I  can  only  protect  you,  not  your  house. 
He  may  have  no  right  to  turn  you  out  at  such  short 
notice  ;  but  it  could  only  be  a  matter  of  weeks.  To  go 
to  law  with  him  would  but  leave  me  without  a  roof  to 
shelter  you  when  your  own  was  gone  !  " 

"  The  dead  woum  have  shown  him  into  the  dark,  ere 
he  turned  me  into  the  cold !  "  she  muttered,  and  turning, 
left  him. 

The  chief  was  greatly  troubled.  He  had  heard  noth- 
ing of  such  an  intention  on  the  part  of  his  neighbor. 
Could  it  be  for  revenge  ?  He  had  heard  nothing  yet  of 
his  answer  to  Mercy.  All  he  could  do  was  to  represent 
to  Mr.  Palmer  the  trouble  the  poor  woman  was  in,  and 
to  let  him  know  that  the  proceeding  threatened  would 
render  him  very  unpopular  in  the  strath.  This  he 
thought  it  best  to  do  by  letter. 

It  could  not  enrage  Mr.  Palmer  more,  but  it  did  so 
afresh.  He  vowed  that  the  moment  the  time  was  up, 
out  the  old  witch  should  go,  neck  and  crop  ;  and  with 
the  help  of  Mr.  Smith,  provided  men  for  the  purpose 
who  did  not  belong  to  the  neighborhood. 


432  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

The  chief  kept  hoping  to  hear  from  the  New  House, 
but  neither  his  letter  to  Mercy  nor  to  her  father  re- 
ceived any  answer.  How  he  wished  for  Ian  to  tell  him 
what  he  ought  to  do !  His  mother  could  not  help  him. 
He  saw  nothing  for  it  but  wait  events. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  he  heard  nothing.  He 
would  have  tried  to  find  out  the  state  of  things  at  the 
New  House,  but  until  war  was  declared  that  would  not 
be  right !  Mr.  Palmer  might  be  seeking  how  with  dig- 
nity to  move  in  the  matter,  for  certainly  the  chief  had 
placed  him  in  a  position  yet  more  unpleasant  than  his 
own !  He  must  wait  on  ! 

The  very  day  fortnight  after  the  notice  given,  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  came  flying  to  the  chief 
a  ragged  little  urchin  of  the  village,  too  breathless 
almost  to  make  intelligible  his  news  —  that  there  were 
men  at  Mistress  Conal's  who  would  not  go  out  of  her 
house,  and  she  was  swearing  at  them  like  her  own  black 
cat. 

The  chief  ran :  could  the  new  laird  be  actually  un- 
housing  the  aged,  helpless  woman  ?  It  was  the  part  of 
a  devil  and  not  of  a  man  !  As  he  neared  the  place  — 
there  were  her  poor  possessions  already  on  the  road- 
side !  —  her  one  chair  and  stool,  ber  bedding,  her  three- 
footed  pot,  her  girdle,  her  big  chest,  all  that  she  could 
call  hers  in  the  world  !  and  when  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
cottage,  there  she  was  being  brought  out  of  it,  struggling, 
screaming,  and  cursing  in  the  grasp  of  two  men.  Fierce 
in  its  glow  was  the  torrent  of  Gaelic  that  rushed  from 
the  crater  of  her  lips,  molten  in  the  volcanic  depths  of 
her  indignant  soul. 

When  one  thinks  of  the  appalling  amount  of  rage 
exhausted  by  poor  humans  upon  wrong,  the  energy  of 
indignation,  whether  issued  or  suppressed,  and  how 


MISTRESS    CONAL.  433 


little  it  has  done  to  right  wrong,  to  draw  acknowledg- 
ment or  amends  from  self-satisfied  insolenqe,  he  natu- 
rally asks  what  becomes  of  so  much  vital  force.  Can 
it  fare  differently  from  other  forces  and  be  lost  ?  The 
energy  of  evil  is  turned  into  the  mill-race  of  good ;  but 
the  wrath  of  man,  even  his  righteous  wrath,  worketh  not 
the  righteousness  of  God !  What  becomes  of  it  ?  If  it 
be  not  lost,  and  have  but  changed  its  form,  in  what 
shape  shall  we  look  for  it  ? 

"Set  her  down,"  cried  the  chief.  "I  will  take 
care  of  her." 

When  she  heard  the  voice  of  her  champion,  the  old 
woman  let  go  a  cat-like  screech  of  triumph,  and  her 
gliding  Gaelic,  smoothness  itself  in  articulation,  flowed 
yet  firier  in  word,  and  fiercer  in  tone.  But  the  men 
who  were  thus  ejecting  her,  — hangers  on  of  the  sheriff- 
court  in  the  county  town,  employed  to  give  a  color  of 
law  to  the  doubtful  proceeding  —  did  not  know  the 
chief. 

"  Oh,  we'll  set  her  down,"  answered  one  of  them  in- 
solently, '.'  —  and  glad  enough  too !  but  we'll  have  her 
on  the  public  road  with  her  sticks  first! " 

Infuriated  by  the  man's  disregard  of  her  chief,  Mis- 
tress Conal  struck  her  nails  into  his  face,  and  with  a 
curse  he  flung  her  from  him.  She  turned  instantly  on 
the  other  with  the  same  argument  ad  hominem,  and 
found  herself  staggering  on  her  own  weak  limbs  to  a 
severe  fall,  when  the  chief  caught  and  saved  her.  She 
struggled  hard  to  break  from  him  and  rush  again  into 
the  hut,  declaring  she  would  not  leave  it  if  they  burned 
her  alive  in  it,  but  he  held  her  fast. 

There  was  a  pause,  for  one  or  two  who  had  accom- 
panied the  men  employed,  knew  the  chief,  and  their 
reluctance  to  go  onVith  the  ruthless  deed  in  his  pres- 


434  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

ence,  influenced  the  rest.  Report  of  the  ejection  had 
spread,  and  the  neighbors  came  running  from  the  vil- 
lage. A  crowd  seemed  to  be  gathering.  Again  and 
again  Mistress  Conal  tried  to  escape  from  Alister  and 
rush  into  the  cottage. 

"  You  too,  my  chief  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  you  turned 
against  the  poor  of  your  people  ! " 

"  No,  Mistress  Conal,"  he  answered ;  "  I  am  too 
much  your  friend  to  let  you  kill  yourself ! " 

"  We  have  orders,  Macruadh,  to  set  fire  to  the 
hovel,"  said  one  of  the  men,  touching  his  hat  respect- 
fully. 

"  They'll  roast  my  black   one  ! "    shrieked  the  old' 
woman. 

"  Small  fear  for  him,"  said  a  man's  voice  from  the 
little  crowd,  "  if  half  be  true  — !  " 

Apparently  the  speaker  dared  no  more. 

"Fire  won't  singe  a  hair  of  him,  Mistress  Conal," 
said  another  voice  ;  "  he's  too  well  used  to  it !  " 

"  Come  along,  and  let's  get  it  over !  "  cried  the  leader 
of  the  ejection-party.  "It  won't  take  many  minutes 
once  it's  well  a  going,  and  there's  fire  enough  on  the 
hearth  to  set  Ben  Cruachan  in  a  blaze  ! " 

"  Is  everything  out  of  it  ?  "  demanded  the  chief. 

"All  but  her  cat.  We've  done  our  best,  sir,  and 
searched  everywhere,  but  he's  not  to  be  found.  There's 
nothing  else  left." 

"  It's  a  lie  !  "  screamed  Mistress  Conal.  "  Is  there 
not  a  great  pile  of  peats,  carried  on  my  own  back  from 
the  moss !  Ach,  you  robbers !  would  you  burn  the 
good  peats  ?  " 

"What  good  will  the  peats  be  to  you,  woman,"  said 
one  of  them  not  unkindly,  "  when  you  have  no 
hearth?" 


MISTRESS    CONAL.  435 


She  gave  a  loud  wail,  but  checked  it. 

"I  will  burn  them  on  the  road,"  she  said.  "They 
will  keep  me  a  few  hours  from  the  dark  !  When  I  die 
I  will  go  straight  up  to  God  and  implore  his  curse 
upon  you,  on  your  bed  and  board,  your  hands  and  tools, 
your  body  and  soul.  May  your  every  prayer  be  lost  in 
the  wide  murk,  and  never  get  to  his  ears  !  May  —  " 

"  Hush !  hush  !  "  interposed  the  chief  with  great 
gentleness.  "  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  saying. 
But  you  do  know  who  tells  us  to  forgive  our  enemies ! " 

"  It's  well  for  him  to  forgive,"  she  screamed,  "  sitting 
on  his  grand  throne,  and  leaving  me  to  be  turned  out 
of  my  blessed  house,  on  to  the  cold  road  ! " 

"  Nannie  !  "  said  the  chief,  calling  her  by  her  name, 
"  because  a  man  is  unjust  to  you,  is  that  a  reason  for 
you  to  be  unjust  to  him  who  died  for  you?  You  know 
as  well  as  he,  that  you  will  not  be  left  out  on  the  cold 
road.  He  knows,  and  so  do  you,  that  while  I  have  a 
house  over  my  head,  there  is  a  warm  corner  in  it  for 
you !  And  as  for  his  sitting  on  his  throne,  you  know 
that  all  these  years  he  has  been  trying  to  take  you  up 
beside  him,  and  can't  get  you  to  set  your  foot  on  the 
first  step  of  it !  Be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Nannie  ! " 

She  was  silent. 

"  Bring  out  her  peats,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  by- 
standers ;  "  we  have  small  need,  with  winter  on  the 
road,  to  waste  any  of  God's  gifts !  " 

They  obeyed.  But  as  they  carried  them  out,  and 
down  to  the  road,  the  number  of  Mistress  Conal's  friends 
kept  growing,  and  a  laying  together  of  heads  began, 
and  a  gathering  of  human  fire  under  glooming  eye- 
brows. It  looked  threatening.  Suddenly  Mistress 
Conal  broke  out  in  a  wild  yet  awful  speech,  wherein 
truth  indeed  was  the  fuel,  but  earthly  wrath  supplied 


436  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

the  prophetic  fire.  Her  friends  suspended  their  talk, 
and  her  foesT their  work,  to  listen. 

English  is  by  no  means  equally  poetic  with  the 
Gaelic,  regarded  as  a  language,  and  ill  serves  to  repre- 
sent her  utterance.  Much  that  seems  natural  in  the 
one  language,  seems  forced  and  unreal  amidst  the  less 
imaginative  forms  of  the  other.  I  will  nevertheless 
attempt  in  English  what  can  prove  little  better  than  an 
imitation  of  her  prophetic  outpouring.  It  was  like  a 
sermon  in  this,  that  she  began  with  a  text :  — 

"  Woe  unto  them,"  she  said  —  and  her  voice  sounded 
like  the  wind  among  the  great  stones  of  a  hillside  — " 
"  that  join  house  to  house,  that  lay  field  to  field,  till 
there  be  no  place,  that  they  may  be  placed  alone  in  the 
midst  of  the  earth !  " 

This  woe  she  followed  with  woe  upon  woe,  and 
curse  upon  curse,  now  from  the  Bible,  now  from  some 
old  poem  of  the  country,  and  now  from  the  bitterness 
of  her  own  heart.  Then  she  broke  out  in  purely 
native  eloquence :  — 

"  Who  art  thou,  O  man,  born  of  a  woman,  to  say  to 
thy  brother,  c  Depart  from  this  earth  :  here  is  no  foot- 
ing for  thee ;  all  the  room  had  been  taken  for  me  ere 
thou  was  heard  of  !  What  right  hast  thou  in  a  world 
where  I  want  room  for  the  red  deer,  and  the  big  sheep, 
and  the  brown  cattle  ?  Go  up,  thou  infant  bald-head  ! 
Is  there  not  room  above,  in  the  fields  of  the  air  ?  Is 
there  not  room  below  with  the  dead  ?  Verily  there  is 
none  here  upon  the  earth  ! '  Who  art  thou,  I  say,  to 
speak  thus  to  thy  fellow,  as  if  he  entered  the  world  by 
another  door  than  thyself !  Because  thou  art  rich,  is 
he  not  also  a  man  ?  —  a  man  made  in  the  image  of  the 
same  God  ?  Who  but  God  sent  him  ?  And  who  but 
God,  save  thy  father  was  indeed  the  devil,  hath  sent 


MISTRESS    CONAL.  437 


thee?  Thou  hast  to  make  room  for  thy  brother! 
What  brother  of  thy  house,  when  a  child  is  born  into 
it,  would  presume  to  say,  '  Let  him  begone,  and  speed- 
ily !  I  do  not  want  him  !  There  is  no  room  for  him  ! 
I  require  it  all  for  myself ! '  Wilt  thou  say  of  any 
man,  '  He  is  not  my  brother ! '  when  God  says  he  is. 
If  thou  say,  '  Am  I  therefore  his  keeper  ? '  God  for 
that  saying  will  brand  thee  with  the  brand  of  Cain. 
Yea  the  hour  will  come,  when  those  ye  will  not  give 
room  to  breathe,  will  rise  panting  in  the  agony,  yea 
fury  of  their  necessity,  and  cry,  '  If  we  may  neither  eat 
nor  lie  down  by  their  leave,  lo,  we  are  strong !  let  us 
take  what  they  will  not  give  !  If  we  die  we  but  die  ! ' 
Then  shall  there  be  blood  to  the  knees  of  the  fighting 
men,  yea,  to  the  horses'  bridles  ;  and  the  earth  shall  be 
left  desolate  because  of  you,  foul  feeders  on  the  flesh 
and  blood,  on  the  bodies  and  souls  of  men  !  In  the 
pit  of  hell  you  will  find  room  enough,  but  no  drop  of 
water ;  and  it  will  comfort  you  little  that  ye  lived 
merrily  among  pining  men  !  Which  of  us  has  cov- 
eted your  silver  or  your  gold?  Which  of  us  has 
stretched  out  the  hand  to  take  of  your  wheat  or  your 
barley  ?  All  we  ask  is  room  to  live  !  But  because  ye 
would  see  the  dust  of  the  earth  on  the  head  of  the  poor, 
ye  have  crushed  and  straitened  us  till  we  are  ready  to 
cry  out,  cGod,  for  thy  mercy's  sake,  let  us  die,  lest  we 
be  guilty  of  our  own  blood  ! ' ' 

A  solitary  man  had  come  down  the  hill  behind,  and 
stood  alone  listening.  It  was  the  mover  of  the  wicked- 
ness. In  the  old  time  the  rights  of  the  people  in  the  land 
were  fully  recognized;  but  when  the  chiefs  of  Clanruadh 
sold  it,  they  could  not  indeed  sell  the  rights  that  were 
not  theirs,  but  they  forgot  to  secure  them  for  the  help- 
less, and  they  were  now  in  the  grasp  of  the  selfish  and 


438  WHAT'S  MINE'S 


greedy,  the  devourers  of  the  poor.  He  did  not  under- 
stand a  word  the  woman  was  saying,  but  he  was  pleased 
to  look  on  her  rage,  and  see  the  man  who  had  insulted 
him  suffer  with  her.  When  he  began  to  note  the 
glances  of  lurid  fire  which  every  now  and  then  turned 
upon  him  during  Mistress  Conal's  speech,  he  scorned 
the  indication  :  such  poor  creatures  dared  venture  noth- 
ing, he  thought,  against  the  mere  appearance  of  law. 
Under  what  he  counted  the  chief's  contempt,  he  had 
already  grown  worse  ;  and  the  thought  that  perhaps  the 
great  world  might  one  day  look  upon  him  with  like 
contempt,  wrought  in  him  bitterly  ;  he  had  not  the 
assurance  of  rectitude  which  makes  contempt  hurtless. 
He  was  crueller  now  than  before  the  chief's  letter  to  his 
daughter. 

When  Mistress  Conal  saw  him,  she  addressed  herself 
to  him  directly.  What  he  would  have  felt  had  he  un- 
derstood, I  cannot  tell.  Never  in  his  life  did  he  know 
how  the  weak  can  despise  the  strong,  how  the  poor  can 
scorn  the  rich  ! 

"  Worm  !  "  she  said,  "  uncontent  with  holding  the 
land,  eating  the  earth  that  another  may  not  share  !  the 
worms  eat  but  what  their  bodies  will  hold,  and  thou 
canst  devour  but  the  fill  of  thy  life  !  The  hour  is  at 
hand  when  the  earth  will  swallow  thee,  and  thy  fellow 
worms  will  eat  thee,  as  thou  hast  eaten  men.  The  pos- 
sessions of  thy  brethren  thou  hast  consumed,  so  that 
they  are  not  !  The  holy  and  beautiful  house  of  my 
fathers  —  "  she  spoke  of  her  poor  little  cottage,  but  in 
the  words  lay  spiritual  fact  —  "  mock  not  its  poverty  !  " 
she  went  on,  as  if  forestalling  contempt  ;  "  for  is  it  not 
a  holy  house  where  the  woman  lay  in  the  agony  whence 
first  I  opened  my  eyes  to  the  sun  ?  Is  it  not  a  holy 
house  where  my  father  prayed  morning  and  evening, 


MISTRESS    COXAL.  439 


and  read  the  words  of  grace  and  comfort  ?  Is  it  not  to 
me  sacred  as  the  cottage  at  IsTazareth  to  the  poor  man 
who  lived  there  with  his  peasants  ?  And  is  not  that  a 
beautiful  house  in  which  a  woman's  ear  did  first  listen 
to  the  words  of  love  ?  Old  and  despised  I  am,  but 
once  I  was  younger  than  any  of  you,  and  ye  will  be  old 
and  decrepit  as  I,  if  the  curse  of  God  do  not  cut  you  off 
too  soon.  My  Alister  would  have  taken  any  two  of  you 
and  knocked  your  heads  together.  He  died  fighting 
for  his  country ;  and  for  his  sake  the  voice  of  man's  love 
has  never  again  entered  my  heart :  I  knew  a  true  man, 
and  could  be  true  also.  Would  to  God  I  were  with 
him  !  You  man-trapping,  land-reaving,  house-burning 
Sasunnach,  do  your  worst !  I  care  not." 

She  ceased  and  the  spell  was  broken. 

"  Come,  come  !  "  said  one  of  the  men  impatiently. 
"  Tom,  you  get  a  peat,  and  set  it  on  the  top  of  the 
wall,  under  the  roof.  You,  too,  George  !  —  and  be 
quick.  Peats  all  round !  there  are  plenty  on  the 
hearth  !  How's  the  wind  blowing  ?  —  You,  Henry, 
make  a  few  holes  in  the  wall  here,  outside,  and  we'll 
set  live  peats  in  there.  It's  time  there  was  an  end  to 
this  !  " 

"  You're  right ;  but  there's  a  better  way  to  end  it !  " 
returned  one  of  the  clan,  and  gave  him  a  shove  that 
sent  him  to  the  ground. 

"  Men,  do  your  duty !  "  cried  Mr.  Palmer  from  be- 
hind. "  I  am  here  —  to  see  you  do  it !  Never  mind 
the  old  woman !  Of  course  she  thinks  it  hard ;  but 
hard  things  have  got  to  be  done !  it's  the  way  of  the 
world,  and  all  for  the  best !  " 

"Mr.  Palmer,"  said  another  of  the  clan,  "the  old 
woman  has  the  right  of  you:  she  and  hers  have  lived 
there,  in  that  cottage,  for  nigh  a  hundred  years." 


440  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  She  has  no  right.  If  she  thinks  she  has,  let  her  go 
to  the  law  for  it !  In  the  meantime,  I  choose  to  turn 
her  off  my  land.  What's  mine's  mine,  as  I  mean 
every  man  jack  of  you  to  know  —  chief  and  beggar!  " 

The  Macruadh  walked  up  to  him. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  he  said :  "  I  doubt  much  if  you 
have  a  legal  right  to  disturb  the  poor  woman.  She 
has  never  paid  rent  for  her  hut,  and  it  has  always  been 
looked  upon  as  her  property." 

"  Then  the  chief  that  sold  it  swindled  both  me  and 
her ! "  stammered  Mr.  Palmer,  white  with  rage.  "  But 
as  for  you  who  call  yourself  a  chief,  you  are  the  most 
insolent,  ill-bred  fellow  I  ever  had  to  do  with,  and  I 
have  not  another  word  to  say  to  you  !  " 

A  silence  like  that  before  a  thunder-storm  succeeded. 
Not  a  man  of  the  clan  could  for  the  moment  trust  his 
hearing:  There  is  nothing  the  Celtic  nature  resents 
like  rudeness.  Then  half  a  dozen  at  once  of  the 
Macruadhs  rushed  upon  the  insulter  of  their  chief, 
intent  on  his  punishment. 

"  One  of  you  touch  him,"  cried  Alister,  "  and  I  will 
knock  him  down.  I  would  if  he  were  my  foster- 
brother  ! " 

Each  eager  assailant  stood  like  a  block. 

"  Finish  your  work,  men  !  "  shouted  Mr.  Palmer. 

To  do  him  justice  he  was  no  coward. 

"  Clansmen,"  said  the  chief,  "  let  him  have  his  way. 
I  do  not  see  how  to  resist  the  wrong  without  bringing 
more  evil  upon  us  than  we  can  meet.  We  must  leave 
it  to  him  who  says  '  Vengeance  is  mine.'  " 

The  Macruadhs  murmured  their  obedience,  and 
stood  sullenly  looking  on.  The  disseizors  went  into 
the  hut,  and  carried  out  the  last  of  the  fuel.  Then 
they  scooped  holes  in  the  turf  walls,  inside  to  leeward, 


MISTRESS    COXAL.  441 

outside  to  windward,  and  taking  live  peats  from  the 
hearth,  put  them  in  the  holes.  A  few  minutes,  and 
poor  Nannie's  "  holy  and  beautiful  house  "  was  a  great 
fire. 

When  they  began  to  apply  the  fire,  the  chief  would 
at  once  have  taken  the  old  woman  away,  but  he 
dreaded  an  outbreak  and  lingered.  When  the  fire 
began  to  run  up  the  roof,  Mistress  Conal  broke  from 
him,  and  darted  to  the  door.  Everyone  rushed  to 
seize  her,  Mr.  Palmer  with  the  rest. 

"Blackie!  Blackie!  Blackie!"  she  shrieked  like  a 
madwoman. 

While  the  men  encumbered  each  other  in  their  en- 
deavors to  get  her  away,  down  shot  the  cat  from  the 
blazing  roof,  a  fizz  of  fire  in  his  black  fur,  his  tail  as 
thick  as  his  neck,  an  infernal  howling  screech  of  hatred 
in  his  horrible  throat,  and,  wild  with  rage  and  fear, 
flung  himself  straight  upon  Mr.  Palmer.  A  roar  of 
delighted  laughter  burst  forth.  He  bawled  out — and 

o  o 

his  bawl  was  mingled  with  a  scream  —  to  take  the 
brute  off  him,  and  his  own  men  hurried  to  his  rescue ; 
but  the  fury-frantic  animal  had  dug  his  claws  and 
teeth  into  his  face  and  clung  to  him  so  that  they  had 
to  choke  him  off.  The  chief  caught  up  Mistress  Conal 
and  carried  her  off :  there  was  no  danger  of  any  one 
hurting  Mr.  Palmer  now ! 

He  bore  her  on  one  arm  like  a  child,  and  indeed  she 
was  not  much  heavier.  But  she  kept  her  face  turned 
and  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  burning  home,  and  leaning 
over  the  shoulder  of  the  chief,  poured  out,  as  he  car- 
ried her  farther  and  farther  from  the  scene  of  the  out- 
rage, a  flood  of  maledictory  prophecy  against  the 
doers  of  the  deed.  The  laird  said  never  a  word, 
never  looked  behind  him,  while  she,  almost  tumbling 


44:2  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MIXE. 

down  his  back  as  she  cursed  with  outstretched  arms, 
deafened  him  with  her  raging.  He  walked  steadily 
down  the  path  to  the  road,  where  he  stepped  into  the 
midst  of  her  goods  and  chattels.  The  sight  of  them 
diverted  a  little  the  current  of  her  wrath. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Macruadh  ?  "  she  cried,  as 
he  walked  on.  "  See  you  not  my  property  lying  to 
the  hand  of  the  thief  ?  Know  you  not  that  the  greedy 
Sasunnach  will  carry  everything  away  !  " 

"  I  can't  carry  them  and  you  too,  Mistress  Conal !  " 
said  the  chief,  gaily. 

"  Set  me  down  then.  Who  ever  asked  you  to  carry 
me !  And  where  would  you  be  carrying  me  ?  My 
place  is  with  my  things !  " 

"  Your  place  is  with  me,  Mistress  Conal !  I  belong 
to  you,  and  you  belong  to  me,  and  I  am  taking  you 
home  to  my  mother." 

At  the  word,  silence  fell,  not  on  the  lips,  but  on  the 
soul  of  the  raving  prophetess :  the  chief  she  loved,  his 
mother  she  feared. 

"  Set  me  down,  Macruadh ! "  she  pleaded  in  gentle 
tone.  "  Don't  carry  me  to  her  empty-handed  !  Set 
me  down  straight ;  I  will  load  my  back  with  my  goods, 
and  bear  them  to  my  lady,  and  throw  them  at  her 
feet," 

"  As  soon  as  we  get  to  the  cottage,"  said  the  chief, 
as  he  strode  on  with  his  reluctant  burden,  "  I  will  send 
up  two  men  with  wheelbarrows  to  bring  them  home." 

"Home,  said  you?"  cried  the  old  woman,  and 
burst  into  the  tearless  wailing  of  a  child  ;  "  there  is  a 
home  for  me  no  more  !  My  house  was  all  that  was 
left  me  of  my  people,  and  it  is  your  own  that  makes  a 
house  a  home  !  In  the  long  winter  nights,  when  I  sat 
by  the  fire  and  heard  the  wind  howl,  and  the  snow  pat, 


MISTRESS    COXAL.  443 


pat  like  the  small  hands  of  my  little  brothers  on  the 
window,  my  heart  grew  glad  within  me,  and  the  dead 
came  back  to  my  soul!  When  I  took  the  book,  I 
heard  the  spirit  of  my  father  reading  through  my  own 
lips  !  And  oh,  my  mother !  my  mother  !  " 

She  ceased  as  if  in  despair. 

"Surely,  Nannie,  you  will  be  at  home  with  your 
chief !  "  said  Alister.  "  My  house  is  your  house  now, 
and  your  dead  will  come  to  it ! " 

"  It  is  their  chief's  house,  and  they  will ! "  she 
returned.  "  They  loved  their  chief.  Shall  we  not  make 
a  fine  clan  when  we're  all  gathered,  we  Macruadhs! 
Man  nor  woman  can  say  ./did  anything  to  disgrace  it ! " 

"Lest  we  should  disgrace  it,"  said  the  chief,  "we 
must  bear  with  patience  what  is  sent  upon  it." 

He  carried  her  into  the  drawing-room  and  told  her 
story,  then  stood,  to  the  delighted  amusement  of  his 
mother,  with  his  little  old  sister  in  his  arms,  waiting 
her  orders,  like  a  big  boy  carrying  the  baby,  who  now 
and  then  moaned  a  little,  but  did  not  speak. 

His  mother  called  Nancy,  and  told  her  to  bring  the 
tea-tray,  and  get  ready  for  Mistress  Conal  the  room 
next  Nancy's  own,  that  she  might  be  near  to  wait  on 
her ;  and  thither,  when  warmed  and  fed,  the  chief  car- 
ried her. 

But  the  terrible  excitement  had  so  thinned  the  main- 
spring of  her  time-watch,  that  it  soon  broke.  She  did 
not  live  many  weeks.  From  the  first  she  sank  into  great 
dejection,  and  her  mind  wandered.  She  said  her  father 
never  came  to  see  her  now;  that  he  was  displeased 
with  her  for  leaving  the  house ;  and  that  she  knew  now 
she  ought  to  have  staid  and  been  burned  in  it.  The 
chief  reminded  her  that  she  had  no  choice,  but  had 
been  carried  bodily  away. 


444  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  answered ;  "  but  they  do  not  know 
that !  I  must  make  haste  and  tell  them !  Who  can 
bear  her  own  people  to  think  ill  of  her  !  —  I'm  corning  ! 
I'm  coming !  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it !  I'm  an  honest 
woman  yet ! " 

Another  thing  troubled  her  sorely,  for  which  she 
would  hear  no  consolation  :  Blackie  had  vanished !  — 
whether  he  was  killed  at  the  time  of  his  onslaught  on 
Mr.  Palmer,  or  was  afterwards  shot ;  whether,  disgusted 
with  the  treatment  of  his  old  home,  or  the  memory  of 
what  he  had  there  suffered,  he  had  fled  the  strath,  and 
gone  to  the  wild  cats  among  the  hills,  or  back  to  the 
place  which  some  averred  he  came  from,  no  one  could 
tell.  In  her  wanderings  she  talked  more  of  her  cat 
than  of  anything  else,  and  would  say  things  that  with 
some  would  have  gone  far  to  justify  the  belief  that  the 
animal  was  by  nature  'on  familiar  terms  with  the  ele- 
ment which  had  yet  driven  him  from  his  temporary 
home. 

Nancy  was  more  than  uneasy  at  having  the  witch  so 
near,  but  by  no  means  neglected  her  duty  to  her.  One 
night  she  woke  and  had  for  some  time  lain  listening 
whether  she  stirred  or  not,  when  suddenly  quavered 
through  the  dark  the  most  horrible  cat-cry  she  had  ever 
heard.  In  abject  terror  she  covered  her  head,  and  lay 
shuddering.  The  cry  came  again,  and  kept  coming  at 
regular  intervals,  but  drawing  nearer  and  nearer.  Its 
expression  was  of  intense  and  increasing  pain.  The 
creature  whence  it  issued  seemed  to  come  close  to  the 
'  house,  then  with  difficulty  to  scramble  up  on  the  roof, 
where  it  went  on  yowling,  and  screeching,  and  throwing 
itself  about  as  if  tying  itself  in  knots,  Nancy  said,  until 
at  last  it  gave  a  great  choking,  gobbling  scream,  and 
fell  to  the  ground,  after  which  all  was  quiet.  Per- 


MISTRESS    CONAL.  445 


suading  herself  it  was  only  a  cat,  she  tried  to  sleep,  and 
at  length  succeeded.  When  she  woke  in  the  morning, 
the  first  thing  she  did  was  to  go  out,  fully  expecting  to 
find  the  cat  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  wall.  No  cat  was 
there.  She  went  then  as  usual  to  attend  to  the  old 
woman.  She  was  dead  and  cold. 

The  clan  followed  her  body  to  the  grave,  and  the 
black  cat  was  never  seen. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

MB.    PALMER    STILL   RELENTLESS. 

IT  was  plainly  of  no  use  for  the  chief  to  attempt  mol- 
lifying Mr.  Palmer.  So  long  as  it  was  possible 
for  him  to  be  what  he  was,  it  must  be  impossible  for 
him  to  understand  the  conscience  that  compelled  the 
chief  to  refuse  participation  in  the  results  of  his  life. 
Where  a  man's  own  conscience  is  content,  how  shall  he 
listen  to  the  remonstrance  of  another  man's  !  But  even 
if  he  could  have  understood  that  the  offence  was  una- 
voidable, that  would  rather  have  increased  than  dimin- 
ished the  pain  of  the  hurt ;  as  it  was,  the  chief's  deter- 
mination must  seem  to  Mr.  Palmer  an  unprovoked  insult ! 
Thus  reflecting,  Alister  tried  all  he  could  to  be  fair  to 
the  man  whom  he  had  driven  to  cut  his  acquaintance. 

It  was  now  a  lonely  time  for  Alister,  lonelier  than 
ever  before.  Ian  was  not  within  reach  even  by  letter ; 
Mercy  was  shut  up  from  him :  he  had  not  seen  or  heard 
from  her  since  writing  his  explanation ;  and  his  mother 
did  not  sympathize  with  his  dearest  earthly  desire :  She 
would  be  greatly  relieved,  yea,  heartily  glad,  if  Mercy 
was  denied  him !  She  loved  Ian  more  than  the  chief, 
yet  could  have  better  borne  to  see  him  the  husband  of 
Mercy  ;  what  was  in  this  regard  more  than  wanting  to 
the  equality  of  her  sons  in  her  love  was  balanced  by  her 
respect  for  the  chief  of  the  clan  and  head  of  the  family. 
Alister's  light  was  thus  left  to  burn  in  very  darkness, 
that  it  might  burn  the  better ;  for  as  strength  is  made 
446 


ME.    PALMER    STILL    RELENTLESS.  447 

perfect  through  weakness,  so  does  the  light  within  grow 
by  darkness.  It  was  the  people  that  sat  in  darkness 
that  saw  a  great  light.  He  was  brought  closer  than 
ever  to  first  principles;  had  to  think  and  judge 
more  than  ever  of  the  right  thing  to  do  —  first  of 
all,  the  right  thing  with  regard  to  Mercy.  Of  giving 
her  up,  there  was  of  course  no  thought ;  so  long  as  she 
would  be  his,  he  was  hers  as  entirely  as  the  bonds  of  any 
marriage  could  make  him !  But  she  owed  something  to 
her  father !  and  of  all  men  the  patriarchal  chief  was  the 
last  to  dare  interfere  with  the  rights  of  a  father.  JBut 
they  must  be  rights,  not  rights  turned  into,  or  founded 
upon  wrongs.  With  the  first  in  acknowledging  true, 
he  would  not  be  with  the  last  even  in  yielding  to  false 
rights !  The  question  was,  what  were  the  rights  of  a 
father?  One  thing  was  clear,  that  it  was  the  duty, 
therefore  the  right  of  a  father,  to  prevent  his  child  from 
giving  herself  away  before  she  could  know  what  she  did  ; 
and  Mercy  was  not  yet  of  age.  That  one  woman  might 
be  capable  of  knowing  at  fifteen,  and  another  not  at 
fifty  left  untouched  the  necessity  for  fixing  a  limit.  It 
was  his  own  duty  and  right,  on  the  other  hand,  to  do  what 
he  could  to  prevent  her  from  being  in  anyway  deceived 
concerning  him.  It  was  essential  that  nothing  should 
be  done,  resolved,  or  yielded,  by  the  girl,  through  any 
misunderstanding  he  could  forestall,  or  because  of  any 
falsehood  he  could  frustrate.  He  must  therefore  con- 
trive to  hold  some  communication  with  her  ! 

First  of  all,  however,  he  must  learn  how  she  was 
treated !  It  was  not  in  fiction  only  or  the  ancient  clan- 
histories  that  tyrannical  and  cruel  things  were  done  ! 
A  tragedy  is  even  more  a  tragedy  that  it  has  not  much 
diversity  of  incident,  that  it  is  acted  in  commonplace 
surroundings,  and  that  the  agents  of  it  are  common- 


448  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

place  persons  —  fathers  and  mothers  acting  from  the 
best  of  law  or  selfish  motives.  Where  either  Mammon 
or  Society  is  worshipped,  in  love,  longing,  or  fear,  there 
is  room  for  any  falsehood,  any  cruelty,  any  suffering. 

There  were  several  of  the  clan  employed  about  the 
"New  House  of  whom  Alister  might  have  sought  infor- 
mation ;  but  he  was  of  another  construction  from  the 
man  of  fashion  in  the  old  plays,  whose  first  love-strategy 
is  always  to  bribe  the  lady's  maid  :  the  chief  scorned  to 
learn  anything  through  those  of  a  man's  own  household. 
He  fired  a  gun,  and  ran  up  a  flag  on  the  old  castle,  which 
brought  Rob  of  the  Angels  at  full  speed,  and  comforted 
the  heart  of  Mercy  sitting  disconsolate  at  her  window : 
it  was  her  chief's  doing,  and  might  have  to  do  with 
her! 

Having  told  Rob  the  state  of  matters  between  him 
and  the  New  House  — 

"  I  need  not  desire  you,  Rob,"  he  concluded,  "to  be 
silent !  You  may  of  course  let  your  father  know,  but 
never  a  soul  besides.  From  this  moment,  every  hour 
your  father  does  not  actually  need  you,  be  somewhere  on 
the  hills  where  you  can  see  the  New  House.  I  want  to 
learn  first  whether  she  goes  out  at  all.  With  the  dark 
you  must  draw  nearer  the  house.  But  I  will  have  no 
questioning  of  the  servants  or  anyone  employed  about 
the  house ;  I  will  never  use  a  man's  pay  to  thwart  his 
plans  nor  yet  make  any  man  even  unconsciously  a 
traitor." 

Rob  understood  and  departed  ;  but  before  he  had 
news  for  his  master,  an  event  occurred  which  superseded 
his  service. 

The  neighbors,  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  and  Mr.  Smith, 
had  begun  to  enclose  their  joint  estates  for  a  deer- 
forest,  and  had  engaged  men  to  act  as  curators.  They 


MR.    PALMER    STILL    RELENTLESS.  449 

were  from  the  neighborhood,  but  none  of  them  belonged 
to  Strathruadh,  and  not  one  knew  the  boundaries  of  the 
district  they  had  to  patrol ;  nor  indeed  were  the  boun- 
daries everywhere  precisely  determined:  why  should 
they  be,  where  all  was  heather  and  rock  ?  Until  game- 
sprinkled  space  grew  valuable,  who  would  care  whether 
this  or  that  lump  of  limestone  rooted  in  the  solid  earth 
were  the  actual  property  of  the  one  or  the  other !  Either 
would  make  the  other  welcome  to  blast  and  cart  it 
away! 

There  was  just  one  person  who  knew  all  about  the 
boundaries  that  was  to  be  known ;  he  could  not  in 
places  draw  their  lines  with  absolute  assurance,  but  he 
had  better  grounds  for  his  conclusions  than  anyone  else 
could  have  ;  it  was  Hector  of  the  Stags.  For  who 
so  likely  to  understand  them  as  he  who  knew  the  sur- 
face within  them  as  well  as  the  clay-floor  of  his  own 
hut?  If  he  did  not  everywhere  know  where  the  march- 
line  fell,  at  least  he  knew  perfectly  where  it  ought  to 
fall. 

It  happened  just  at  this  time  that  the  Mistress  told 
Hector  she  would  be  glad  of  a  deer  intending  to  cure 
part  for  winter  use ;  the  next  day,  therefore,  —  the 
first  of  Rob  of  the  Angels'  secret  service  —  he  stalked 
one  across  the  hill-farm,  got  a  shot  at  it  near  the  cave- 
house,  brought  it  down,  and  was  busy  breaking  it,  when 
two  men  came  creeping  up  behind  him,  threw  them- 
selves upon  him,  and  managed,  the  better  for  themselves, 
to  secure  him  before  he  had  a  chance  of  defending  him- 
self. Finding  he  was  deaf  and  dumb,  one  of  them 
knew  who  he  must  be,  and  would  have  let  h:~ii  go ;  but 
the  other,  eager  to  ingratiate  himself  witn  the  new 
laird,  used  such  arguments  to  the  contrary  as  prevailed 
with  his  companion,  and  they  set  out  for  the  New 


450  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

House,  Hector  between  them  with  his  hands  tied.  An- 
noyed and  angry  at  being  thus  treated  like  a  malefactor, 
he  yet  found  amusement  in  the  notion  of  their  mistake. 
But  he  found  it  awkward  to  be  unable  to  use  that 
readiest  weapon  of  human  defence,  the  tongue.  If 
only  his  ears  and  mouth,  as  he  called  Rob  in  their  own 
speech,  had  been  with  him !  When  he  saw,  however, 
where  they  were  taking  him,  he  was  comforted,  for 
Rob  was  almost  certain  to  see  him :  wherever  he  was, 
he  was  watching  the  New  House !  He  went  com- 
posedly along  with  them  therefore,  fuming  and  snort- 
ing, not  caring  to  escape. 

When  Rob  caught  sight  of  the  three,  he  could  not 
think  how  it  was  that  his  father  walked  so  unlike  him- 
self. He  could  not  be  hurt,  for  his  step  was  strong 
and  steady  as  ever ;  not  the  less  was  there  something 
of  the  rhythm  gone  out  of  his  motion !  there  was  "  a 
broken  music "  in  his  gait !  He  took  the  telescope 
which  the  chief  had  lent  him,  and  turned  it  upon  him. 
Discovering  then  that  his  father's  hands  were  bound 
behind  his  back,  fiercest  indignation  overwhelmed  the 
soul  of  Rob  of  the  Angels.  His  father  bound  like  a 
Criminal !  —  his  father,  the  best  of  men  !  What  could 
the  devils  mean?  Ah,  they  were  taking  him  to  the 
New  House !  He  shut  up  his  telescope,  laid  it  down 
by  a  stone,  and  bounded  to  meet  them,  sharpening  his 
knife  on  his  hand,  as  he  went. 

The  moment  they  were  near  enough,  signs,  unintel- 
ligible to  the  keepers,  began  to  pass  between  the  father 
and  son :  Rob's  meant  that  he  must  let  him  pass  un- 
noticed; Hector's  that  he  understood.  So,  with  but 
the  usual  salutation  of  a  stranger,  Rob  passed  them. 
The  same  moment  he  turned,  and  with  one  swift  sweep 
of  his  knife,  severed  the  bonds  of  his  father.  The  old 


MR.   PALMER    STILL   RELENTLESS.  451 

man  stepped  back,  and  father  and  son  stood  fronting 
the  enemy. 

"  Now,"  said  Rob,  "  if  you  are  honest  men,  stand  to 
it !  How  dared  you  bind  Hector  of  the  Stags  ?  " 

"  Because  he  is  not  an  honest  man,"  replied  one  of 
them. 

Rob  answered  him  with  a  blow.  The  man  made  at 
him,  but  Hector  stepped  between. 

"  Say  that  again  of  my  father,"  cried  Rob,  "  who 
has  no  speech  to  defend  himself,  and  I  will  drive  my 
knife  into  you." 

"  We  are  only  doing  our  duty ! "  said  the  other. 
"  We  came  upon  him  there  cutting  up  the  deer  he  had 
just  killed  on  the  new  laird's  land." 

"  Who  are  you  to  say  which  is  the  stranger's 
and  which  the  Macruadh's  ?  Neither  my  father 
nor  I  have  ever  seen  the  faces  of  you  in  the 
.country!  Will  you  pretend  to  know  the  marches 
better  than  my  father,  who  was  born  and  bred 
in  the  heather,  and  known  every  stone  on  the  face 
of  the  hills?" 

"We  can't  help  where  he  was  born  or  what  he 
knows !  he  was  on  our  land !  " 

"  He  is  the  Macruadh's  keeper  and  was  on  his  own 
land.  You  will  get  yourselves  into  trouble ! " 

"  We'll  take  our  chance !  " 

"  Take  your  man  then  !  " 

"  If  he  try  to  escape,  I  swear  by  the  bones  of  my 
grandfather,"  said  the  more  inimical  of  the  two,  the 
inheritor  of  a  clan-feud  with  the  Macruadhs,  "  I  will 
shoot  him." 

Rob  of  the  Angels  burst  into  a  scornful  laugh. 

«  You  will !  will  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  kill  him ;  I  don't  want  to  be  hanged  for 


452  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

him !  but  I  will  empty  my  shot-barrel  into  the  legs  of 
him  !  So  take  your  chance  ;  you  are  warned  ! " 

They  had  Hector's  gun,  and  Rob  had  no  weapon 
but  his  knife.  Nor  was  he  inclined  to  use  either  now 
he  had  cooled  a  little.  He  turned  to  his  father.  The 
old  man  understood  perfectly  what  had  passed  between 
them,  and  signed  to  Rob  that  he  would  go  on  to  the 
New  House,  and  Rob  might  run  and  let  the  chief  know 
what  had  happened.  The  same  thing  was  in  Rob's 
mind  for  he  saw  how  it  would  favor  the  desires  of  his 
chief,  bringing  them  all  naturally  about  the  place.  But 
he  must  first  go  with  his  father  on  the  chance  of  learn- 
ing something. 

"  We  will  go  with  you,"  he  said. 

"  We  don't  want  you  !  " 

"  But  I  mean  to  go !  —  My  father  is  not  able  to 
speak  for  himself ! " 

"  You  know  nothing." 

"I  know  what. he  knows.  The  lie  does  not  grow  in 
our  strath." 

"  You  crow  high,  my  cock ! " 

"  No  higher  than  I  strike,"  answered  Rob.  In  the 
eyes  of  the  men  Rob  was  small  and  weak ;  but  there 
was  something  in  him,  notwithstanding,  that  looked 
dangerous,  and,  though  far  from  cowards,  they  thought 
it  as  well  to  leave  him  alone. 

Mercy  at  her  window  where  was  her  usual  seat  now 
saw  them  corning,  and  instinctively  connected  their 
appearance  with  her  father's  new  measures  of  protec- 
tion ;  and  when  the  men  turned  towards  the  kitchen 
she  ran  down  to  learn  what  she  could.  Rob  greeted 
her  with  a  smile  as  he  entered. 

"  I  am  going  to  fetch  the  Macruadh,"  he  whispered, 
and  turning  went  out  again. 


MR.    PALMER    STILL   RELENTLESS.  453 

He  told  the  chief  that  at  the  word  her  face  lighted 
up  as  with  the  rise  of  the  moon. 

One  of  the  maids  went  and  told  her  master  that  they 
had  got  a  poacher  in  the  kitchen. 

Mr.  Palmer's  eyes  lightened  under  his  black  brows 
when  he  saw  the  captive,  whom  he  knew  by  sight  and 
by  report.  His  men  told  him  the  story  their  own  way, 
never  hinting  a  doubt  as  to  whose  was  the  land  on 
which  the  deer  had  been  killed. 

"Where  is  the  nearest  magistrate?"  he  inquired 
with  grand  severity. 

"  The  nearest  is  the  Macruadh,  sir ! "  said  a  high- 
lander  who  had  come  from  work  in  the  garden  to  see 
what  was  going  on. 

"  I  cannot  apply  to  him ;  the  fellow  is  one  of  his  own 
men ! " 

"The  Macruadh  does  what  is  just!"  rejoined  the 
man. 

His  master  vouchsafed  him  no  reply.  He  would  not 
show  his  wrath  against  the  chief :  it  would  be  undigni- 
fied! 

"  Take  him  to  the  tool-house,  and  lock  him  up  till  I 
think  what  to  do  with  him.  Bring  me  the  key." 

The  butler  led  the  way,  and  Hector  followed  between 
his  captors.  They  might  have  been  showing  him  to 
his  bed-room  so  calm  was  he :  Rob  gone  to  fetch  the 
chief,  his  imprisonment  could  not  last  —  and  for  the 
indignity,  was  he  not  in  the  right ! 

As  Mr.  Palmer  left  the  kitchen,  his  eye  fell  on 
Mercy. 

"  Go  to  your  room,"  he  said  angrily,  and  turned  from 
her. 

She  obeyed  in  silence,  consoling  herself  that  from 
her  window  she  could  see  the  arrival  of  the  chief.  Nor 


454  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

had  she  watched  long  when  she  saw  him  coming  along 
the  road  with  Rob.  At  the  gate  she  lost  sight  of 
them.  Presently  she  heard  voices  in  the  hall,  and 
crept  down  the  stair  far  enough  to  hear. 

"  I  could  commit  you  for  a  breach  of  the  peace,  Mr. 
Palmer,"  she  heard  the  chief  say.  "  You  ought  to  have 
brought  the  man  to  me.  As  a  magistrate  I  order  his 
release.  But  I  give  my  word  he  shall  be  forthcoming 
when  legally  required." 

"  Your  word  is  no  bail.  The  man  was  taken  poach- 
ing. I  have  him,  and  I  will  keep  him." 

"  Let  me  see  him  then,  that  I  may  learn  from  him- 
self where  he  shot  the  deer." 

"  He  shall  go  before  Mr.  Smith." 

"  Then  I  beg  you  will  take  him  at  once.  I  will  go 
with  him.  But  listen  a  moment,  Mr.  Palmer.  When 
this  same  man,  my  keeper,  took  your  guest  poaching 
on  my  ground,  I  let  Mr.  Sercombe  go.  I  could  have 
committed  him  as  you  would  commit  Hector.  I  ask 
you  in  return  to  let  Hector  go.  Being  deaf  and  dumb, 
and  the  hills  the  joy  of  his  life,  confinement  will  be 
terrible  to  him." 

"  I  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  You  could  never 
have  committed  a  gentleman  for  a  mistake.  This  is 
quite  a  different  thing !  " 

"  It  is  a  different  thing,  for  Hector  cannot  have  made 
a  mistake.  He  could  not  have  followed  a  deer  on  to 
your  ground  without  knowing  it ! " 

"  I  make  no  question  of  that ! " 

"  He  says  he  was  not  on  your  property." 

"  Says  ! " 

"  He  is  not  a  man  to  lie ! " 

Mr.  Palmer  smiled. 

"  Once  more  I  pray  you,  let  us  see  him  together." 


MR.  PALMER  STILL  RELENTLESS.        455 

"  You  shall  not  see  him." 

"  Then  take  him  at  once  before  Mr.  Smith." 

"  Mr.  Smith  is  not  at  home." 

"  Take  him  before  some  magistrate  —  I  care  not  who. 
There  is  Mr.  Chisholm!" 

"  I  will  take  him  when  and  where  it  suits  me." 

"  Then  as  a  magistrate,  I  will  set  him  free.  I  am 
sorry  to  make  myself  unpleasant  to  you.  Of  all  things 
I  would  have  avoided  it.  But  I  cannot  let  the  man 
suffer  unjustly.  Where  have  you  put  him?" 

"  Where  you  will  not  find  him." 

"  He  is  one  of  my  people ;  I  must  have  him ! " 

"  Your  people !  A  set  of  idle,  poaching  fellows ! 
By  heaven,  the  strath  shall  be  rid  of  the  pack  of  them, 
before  another  year  is  out ! " 

"While  I  have  land  in  it,  with  room  for  them  to 
stand  upon,  the  strath  shall  not  be  rid  of  them  !  —  But 
this  is  idle!  Where  have  you  put  Hector  of  the 
Stags?" 

Mr.  Palmer  laughed. 

"  In  safe  keeping.  There  is  no  occasion  to  be  uneasy 
about  him !  He  shall  have  plenty  to  eat  and  drink* 
be  well  punished,  and  show  the  rest  of  the  rascals  the 
way  out  of  the  country  !  " 

"  Then  I  must  find  him  !    You  compel  me !  " 

So  saying  the  chief,  with  intent  to  begin  his  search 
at  the  top  of  the  house  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Mercy, 
darted  up  the  stair.  She  heard  him  coming,  went  a 
few  steps  higher,  and  waited.  On  the  landing  he  saw 
her,  white,  with  flashing  eyes.  Their  hands  clasped 
each  other  —  for  a  moment  only,  but  the  moment  was 
of  eternity,  not  of  time. 

"  You  will  find  Hector  in  the  tool-house,"  she  said 
aloud. 


456  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  You  shameless  hussy ! "  cried  her  father,  follow- 
ing the  chief  in  a  fury. 

Mercy  ran  up  the  stair.  The  chief  turned  and  faced 
Mr.  Palmer. 

"  You  have  no  business  in  my  house ! " 

"  I  have  the  right  of  a  magistrate." 

"  You  have  no  right.     Leave  it  at  once." 

"Allow  me  to  pass." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  —  making  a 
girl  turn  traitor  to  her  own  father !  " 

"  You  ought  to  be  proud  of  a  daughter  with  the  con- 
science and  courage  to  turn  against  you ! " 

The  chief  passed  Mr.  Palmer,  and  running  down  the 
stair,  joined  Rob  of  the  Angels  where  he  stood  at  the 
door  in  a  group  composed  of  the  keepers  and  most  of 
the  servants. 

"  Do  you  know  the  tool-house  ?  "    he  said  to  Rob. 

"  Yes,  Macruadh." 

"  Lead  the  way  then.     Your  father  is  there." 

"  On  no  account  let  them  open  the  door,"  cried  Mr. 
Palmer.  "  They  may  hold  through  it  what  communi- 
cation they  please." 

"You  will  not  be  saying  much  to  a  deaf  man 
through  inch  boards !  "  remarked  the  clansman  from  the 
garden. 

Mr.  Palmer  hurried  after  them,  and  his  men  followed. 

Alister  found  the  door  fast  and  solid,  without  handle. 
He  turned  a  look  on  his  companion,  and  seemed  about 
to  run  his  weight  against  the  lock. 

"  It  is  too  strong !  "  said  Rob.  "  Hector  of  the  Stags 
must  open  it ! " 

"  But  how  ?  you  cannot  even  let  him  know  what 
you  want ! " 

Rob  gave  a  smile,  and  going  up  to  the  door,  laid 


MR.    PALMER    STILL    RELENTLESS.  457 

himself  against  it,  as  close  as  he  could  stand,  with  his 
face  upon  it,  and  so  stood  silent. 

Mr.  Palmer  coming  up  with  his  attendants,  all  stood 
for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  wondering  at  Rob  :  he 
must  be  holding  communication  in  some  way  with  his 
father  —  but  how  ? 

Sounds  began  inside  —  first  a  tumbling  of  tools  about, 
then  an  attack  on  the  lock. 

"  Come  !  come !  this  won't  do  !  "  said  Mr.  Palmer, 
approaching  the  door. 

"  Prevent  it  then,"  said  the  chief.  "  Do  what  you 
will  you  cannot  make  him  hear  you,  and  as  you  have 
put  the  door  between  you,  he  cannot  see  you !  If  you 
do  not  open  it,  he  will ! " 

"  Run,"  said  Mr.  Palmer  to  the  butler ;  "  you  will 
find  the  key  on  my  table !  I  don't  want  the  lock 
ruined ! " 

But  there  was  no  stopping  the  thing!  Before  the 
butler  came  back,  the  lock  fell,  the  door  opened,  and 
out  came  Hector,  wiping  his  brow  with  his  sleeve,  and 
looking  as  if  he  enjoyed  the  fun. 

The  keepers  darted  forward. 

"  Stand  off ! "  said  the  chief  stepping  between.  "  I 
don't  want  to  hurt  you,  but  if  you  attempt  to  lay  hands 
on  him,  I  will." 

One  of  the  men  dodged  round,  and  laid  hold  of  Hec- 
tor from  behind ;  the  other  made  a  move  towards  him 
in  front.  Hector  stood  motionless  for  an  instant, 
watching  his  chief,  but  when  he  saw  him  knock  down 
the  man  before  him,  he  had  his  own  assailant  by  the 
throat  in  an  instant,  gave  him  a  shake,  and  threw  him 
beside  his  companion. 

"  You  shall  suffer  for  this,  Macruadh  ! "  cried  Mr. 
Palmer  coming  closer  up  to  him,  and  speaking  in  a  low, 


458 


determined  tone,  carrying  a  conviction  of  unchangeable- 
ness. 

"  Better  leave  what  may  not  be  worse  alone ! "  re- 
turned the  chief.  "It  is  of  no  use  telling  you  how 
sorry  I  am  to  have  to  make  myself  disagreeable  to  you ; 
but  I  give  you  fair  warning  that  I  will  accept  no  refusal 
of  the  hand  of  your  daughter  from  any  but  herself.  As 
you  have  chosen  to  break  with  me,  I  accept  your  decla- 
ration of  war,  and  tell  you  plainly  I  will  do  all  I  can 
to  win  your  daughter,  never  asking  your  leave  in  respect 
of  anything  I  may  think  it  well  to  do.  You  will  find 
there  are  stronger  forces  in  the  world  than  money. 
Henceforward  I  hold  myself  clear  of  any  personal  ob- 
ligation to  you  except  as  Mercy's  father  and  my 
enemy." 

From  very  rage  Mr.  Palmer  wTas  incapable  of  answer- 
ing him.  Alister  turned  from  him,  and  in  his  excite- 
ment mechanically  followed  Rob,  who  was  turning  a 
corner  of  the  house.  It  was  not  the  way  to  the  gate, 
but  Rob  had  seen  Mercy  peeping  round  that  same  cor- 
ner —  anxious  in  truth  about  her  father ;  she  feared 
nothing  for  Alister. 

He  came  at  once  upon  Mercy  and  Rob  talking  to- 
gether. Rob  withdrew  and  joined  his  father  a  little 
way  off ;  they  retired  a  few  more  paces,  and  stood 
waiting  their  chief's  orders. 

"  How  am  I  to  see  you  again,  Mercy  ?  "  said  the  chief 
hurriedly.  "Can't  you  think  of  some  way?  Think 
quick." 

Now  Mercy,  as  she  sat  alone  at  her  window,  had  not 
unfrequently  imagined  the  chief  standing  below  on  the 
walk,  or  just  beyond  in  the  belt  of  shrubbery;  and 
now  once  more  in  her  mind's  eye  suddenly  seeing  him 
there,  she  answered  hurriedly, 


MR.  PALMER  STILL  RELENTLESS.         459 

"  Come  under  my  window  to-night." 

"  I  do  not  know  which  it  is." 

"  You  see  it  from  the  castle.  I  will  put  a  candle  in 
it." 

"What  hour?" 

"  Any  time  after  midnight.  I  will  sit  there  till  you 
come." 

"  I  will,"  said  the  chief,  and  departed  with  his  at- 
tendants. 

Mercy  hastened  into  the  house  by  a  back  door,  but 
had  to  cross  the  hall  to  reach  the  stair.  As  she  ran  up, 
her  father  came  in  at  the  front  door,  saw  her,  and  called 
to  her.  She  went  down  again  to  meet  the  tempest  of  his 
rage  which  now  broke  upon  her  in  gathered  fury.  He 
called  her  a  treacherous,  unnatural  child,  with  every 
name  he  could  think  of  as  characterizing  her  conduct. 
Had  she  been  to  him  as  Regan  or  Goneril,  he  could  not 
have  found  worse  names  for  her.  She  stood  pale  but 
looked  him  in  the  face.  Her  mother  came  trembling 
as  near  as  she  dared,  withered  by  her  terror  to  almost 
twice  her  age.  Mr.  Palmer  in  his  raging  took  a  step 
towards  Mercy  as  if  he  would  strike  her.  Mercy  did 
not  move  a  muscle,  but  stood  ready  for  the  blow.  Then 
love  overcame  her  fear,  and  the  wife  and  mother  threw 
herself  between,  her  arms  round  her  husband,  as  if 
rather  to  protect  him  from  the  deed  than  her  daughter 
from  its  hurt. 

"  Go  to  your  room,  Mercy,"  she  said. 

Mercy  turned  and  went.  She  could  not  understand 
herself.  She  used  to  be  afraid  of  her  father  when  she 
knew  no  reason  ;  now  that  all  the  bad  in  his  nature  and 
breeding  took  form  and  utterance,  she  found  herself 
calm !  But  the  thing  that  quieted  her  was  in  reality 
her  sorrow  that  he  should  carry  himself  so  wildly. 


460  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

What  she  thought  was,  if  the  mere  sense  of  not  being  in 
the  wrong  made  one  able  to  endure  so  much,  what  must 
not  the  truth's  sake  enable  one  to  bear !  She  sat  down 
at  her  window  to  gaze  and  brood. 

When  her  father  cooled  down,  he  was  annoyed  with 
himself,  not  that  he  had  been  unjust,  but  that  he  had 
behaved  with  so  little  dignity.  With  brows  black  as 
evil,  he  sat  degraded  in  his  own  eyes,  resenting  the 
degradation  on  his  daughter.  Every  time  he  thought 
of  her,  fresh  rage  arose  in  his  heart.  He  had  been 
proud  of  his  family -autocracy.  So  seldom  had  it 
been  necessary  to  enforce  his  authority,  that  he  never 
doubted  his  wishes  had  but  to  be  known  to  be  obeyed. 
Born  tyrannical,  the  characterless  submission  of  his  wife 
had  nourished  the  tyrannical  in  him.  Now  all  at  once, 
a  daughter,  the  ugly  one,  from  whom  no  credit  was  to 
be  looked  for,  dared  to  defy  him  for  a  clown  figuring  in 
a  worn-out  rag  of  chieftainship  —  the  musty  fiction  of 
a  clan  of  half  a  dozen  shepherds,  crofters,  weavers  and 
shoemakers,  not  the  shadow  of  a  gentleman  among 
them  !  —  a  man  who  ate  brose,  went  with  bare  knees, 
worked  like  any  hind,  and  did  not  dare  offend  his  rela- 
tions by  calling  his  paltry  farm  his  own  !  —  for  the  sake 
of  such  a  fellow,  with  a  Highland  twang  that  dis- 
gusted his  fastidious  ear,  his  own  daughter  made  a 
mock  of  his  authority,  treated  him  as  a  nobody !  In 
his  own  house  she  had  risen  against  him,  and  betrayed 
him  to  the  insults  of  his  enemy  !  His  conscious  impor- 
tance, partly  from  doubt  in  itself,  boiled  and  fumed, 
bubbled  and  steamed  in  the  caldron  of  his  angry  brain. 
Not  one,  but  many  suns  would  go  down  upon  such  a 
wrath ! 

"  I  wish  I  might  never  set  eyes  on  the  girl  again !  " 
he  said  to  his  wife.  "  A  small  enough  loss  the  sight  of 


ME.    PALMER    STILL    RELENTLESS.  461 

her  would  be,  the  ugly,  common-looking  thing !  I  beg 
you  will  save  me  from  it  in  future  as  much  as  you  can. 
She  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  should  go  out  of  my  mind  !  so 
calm,  forsooth  !  so  meek !  so  self  sufficient !  oh !  quite  a 
saint !  —  and  so  strong-minded  !  —  quite  equal  to  throw- 
ing her  father  over  for  a  fellow  she  never  saw  till  a 
year  ago ! " 

"  She  shall  have  her  dinner  sent  up  to  her  as  usual 
.now!"  answered  his  wife  with  a  sigh.  "But,  really, 
Peregrine,  my  love,  you  must  compose  yourself  !  Love 
has  driven  many  a  woman  to  extremes !  " 

"  Love !  Why  should  she  love  such  a  fellow  ?  I 
see  nothing  in  him  to  love !  Why  should  she  love 
him?  Tell  me  that!  Give  me  one  good  reason  for 
her  folly,  and  I  will  forgive  her  —  do  anything  for  her ! 
—  anything  but  let  her  have  the  rascal!  That  I  will 
not!  Take  for  your  son-in-law  an  ape  that  loathes 
your  money,  calls  it  filthy  lucre  —  and  means  it !  Not 
if  I  can  help  it !  —  Don't  let  me  see  her !  I  shall  come 
to  hate  her !  and  that  I  would  rather  not ;  a  man  must 
love  and  cherish  his  own  flesh !  I  must  go  away,  I 
must !  —  to  get  rid  of  the  hateful  face  of  the  minx,  with 
its  self-righteous,  injured  look  staring  at  you!  " 

"  You  can't  suppose  that  I  shall  be  able  to  prevent 
her  from  seeing  him  !  " 

"  Lock  her  up,  in  the  coal-hole  —  bury  her  if  you  like  ! 
I  shall  never  ask  what  you  have  done  with  her !  Never 
to  see  her  again  is  all  I  care  about ! " 

"  Ah,  if  she  were  really  dead,  you  would  want  to  see 
her  again  —  after  a  while  !  " 

"I  wish  then  she  was  dead,  that  I  might  want  to  see 
her  again  !  It  won't  be  sooner  !  Ten  times  rather  than 
know  her  married  to  that  beast,  I  would  see  her  dead 
and  buried ! " 


462  WHAT'S  MICE'S  MINE. 

The  mother  held  her  peace.  He  did  not  mean  it,  she 
said  to  herself.  It  was  only  his  anger !  But  he  did 
mean  it ;  at  that  moment,  he  would  with  joy  have  heard 
the  earth  fall  on  her  coffin. 

Not  withstanding  her  faculty  for  shutting  out  the  pain- 
ful, her  persistent  self-assuring  that  it  would  blow  over, 
and  her  confidence  that  things  would  by  and  by  resume 
their  course,  Mrs.  Palmer  was  in  those  days  very  un- 
happy. The  former  quiet  once  restored,  she  would  take 
Mercy  in  hand,  and  reasoning  with  her,  soon  persuade 
her  to  what  she  pleased  !  It  was  her  husband's  severity 
that  had  brought  it  to  this  ! 

The  accomplice  of  her  husband,  she  did  not  under- 
stand that  influence  works  only  between  such  as  inhabit 
the  same  spiritual  sphere  :  her  daughter  had  been  lifted 
into  a  region  above  all  the  arguments  of  her  mother  in 
their  life-poverty  and  baseness  of  reach. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

MIDNIGHT. 

MERCY  sat  alone  but  not  lonely  at  her  window. 
A  joy  in  her  heart  made  her  independent  of 
human  intercourse.  Life  at  the  moment  was  livable 
without  it,  for  there  was  no  bar  between  her  and  her  lover. 
The  evening  drew  on.  They  sent  her  food.  She 
forgot  to  eat  it,  and  sat  looking,  till  the  lines  of  the 
horizon  seemed  grown  into  her  mind  like  an  etching, 
She  watched  the  slow  dusk  swell  and  gather  —  with 
such  delicate,  soft-blending  gradations  in  the  birth  of 
night  as  Edwin  Waugh  alone  can  seize  and  word-paint. 
Through  all  its  fine  evanescent  change  of  thought  and 
feeling  she  watched  unconsciously ;  and  the  growth, 
death,  and  burial  of  that  twilight  were  ever  after  a  sub- 
stratum to  all  the  sadness  and  all  the  hope  that  visited 
her.  Through  palest  eastern  rose,  through  silvery  gold 
and  golden  green  and  brown,  the  daylight  passed  into 
the  shadow  of  the  light,  and  the  stars,  like  hope  in  de- 
spair, began  to  show  themselves  where  they  always 
were,  and  the  night  came  on,  and  deeper  and  deeper 
sank  the  silence.  Household  sound  expired  and  no 
step  came  near  her  door.  Her  father  had  given  orders 
and  was  obeyed.  Christina  had  stolen  indeed  from  her 
own  room  and  listened  at  hers,  but  hearing  nor  sound 
nor  motion,  had  concluded  it  better  for  Mercy  as  well 
as  safer  for  herself  to  return.  So  she  sat  the  sole  wake- 
ful thing  in  the  house,  for  even  her  father  slept. 

463 


464  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

The  earth  had  grown  vague  and  dim,  looking  as  it 
must  look  to  the  dead.  Its  oppressive  solidity,  its  ob- 
trusive hereness,  dissolved  in  the  dark,  it  left  the  soul 
to  live  its  own  life.  She  could  still  trace  the  meeting 
of  earth  and  sky,  each  the  evidence  of  the  other,  but 
the  earth  was  content  to  be  and  not  assert  the  sky,  and 
lived  only  in  the  points  of  light  that  dotted  its  vaulted 
quiet.  Sound  itself  seemed  asleep,  and  filling  the  air 
with  the  repose  of  its  slumber.  Absolute  silence  the 
soul  cannot  grasp  ;  therefore  deepest  silence  seems  ever, 
in  Wordsworth's  lovely  phrase,  wandering  into  sound, 
for  silence  is  but  the  thin  shadow  of  harmony— say 
rather  creation's  ear  agape  for  sound,  the  waiting  ma- 
trix of  interwoven  melodies,  the  sphere-bowl  standing 
empty  for  the  wine  of  the  spirit.  There  may  be  yet 
another  reason  beyond  its  too  great  depth  or  height  or 
strength,  why  we  should  be  deaf  to  the  spheral  music ; 
it  may  be  that  the  absolute  perfection  of  its  harmony 
take  to  our  ears  but  the  shape  of  silence. 

Content  and  patient,  Mercy  sat  watching. 

It  was  just  past  midnight,  but  she  had  not  yet 
lighted  a  candle,  when  something  struck  the  window  as 
with  the  soft  blow  of  a  moth's  wing.  Her  heart  gave 
a  great  leap.  She  listened  breathless.  Nothing  fol- 
lowed. It  must  surely  have  been  some  flying  night- 
thing,  though  too  late  in  the  year  for  a  moth  ! 

It  came  again!  She  dared  not  speak.  She  softly 
opened  the  window.  The  darkness  had  thinned  on  the 
horizon,  and  the  half-moon  was  lifting  a  corner  above 
the  edge  of  the  world.  Something  in  the  shrubbery 
answered  her  shine,  and  without  rustle  of  branch,  quiet 
as  a  ghost,  the  chief  stepped  into  the  open  space. 
Mercy  leaned  towards  him  and  said, 

"  Hush !  speak  low." 


MIDNIGHT.  465 


"  There  is  no  need  to  say  much.  I  come  only  to  tell 
you  that,  as  man  may,  I  am  with  you  always." 

"  How  quietly  you  carne !     I  did  not  hear  a  sound  ! " 

"  I  have  been  two  hours  here  in  the  shrubbery." 

"  And  I  not  to  suspect  it !  You  might  have  given 
me  some  hint !  A  very  small  one  would  have  been 
enough  !  Why  did  you  not  let  me  know  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  your  hour ;  it  is  twelve  but  now ;  the 
moon  comes  to  say  so.  I  came  for  the  luxury  of  expect- 
ation and  the  delight  of  knowing  you  better  attended 
than  you  thought :  you  knew  me  with  you  in  spirit ;  I 
was  with  you  in  the  body  too  !  " 

"  My  chief ! "  she  said  softly.  "  I  shall  always  find 
you  nearer  and  better  than  I  was  able  to  think  !  I  know 
I  do  not  know  how  good  you  are." 

"  I  am  good  towards  you,  Mercy  !  I  love  you !  "  A 
long  silence,  save  of  shining  eyes,  followed. 

"  We  are  waiting  for  God !  "  said  Alister  at  length. 

"  Waiting  is  loving,"  answered  Mercy. 

She  leaned  out,  looking  down  to  her  heaven. 

The  moon  had  been  climbing  the  sky,  veiled  in  a  lit- 
tle cloud.  It  vanished  and  her  light  fell  on  the  chief. 

"  Have  you  been  to  a  ball  ?  "  said  Mercy. 

"  No,  Mercy.  I  doubt  if  there  will  be  any  dancing 
more  in  Strathruadh  !  " 

"  Then  why  are  you  in  court  dress  ?  " 

"  When  should  a  Celt,  who  of  all  the  world  loves 
radiance  and  color,  put  on  his  gay  attire  ?  For  the 
multitude,  or  for  the  one  ?  " 

"  Thank  you  !  I  suppose  that  is  a  compliment !  But 
after  your  love,  everything  fine  seems  only  natural !  " 

"  In  love  there  are  no  compliments ;  truth  only  walks 
the  sacred  path  between  the  two  doors.  I  will  love  you 
as  my  father  loved  my  mother  and  loves  her  still." 


466  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  I  do  like  to  see  you  shining  !  It  was  kind  of  you 
to  dress  for  the  moon  and  me  !  " 

"  Who  ever  loves  the  truth  must  love  shining  things ! 
God  is  the  father  of  lights,  even  of  the  lights  hid  in  the 
dark  earth  —  sapphires  and  rubies,  and  all  the  families 
of  splendor." 

"  I  shall  always  see  you  like  that!  "  said  Mercy. 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  want  to  say  to  you,  Mercy  :  — 
you  will  not  think  me  indifferent  however  long  I  maybe 
in  proposing  a  definite  plan  for  our  future  !  We  must 
wait  upon  God !  " 

"  I  shall  think  nothing  you  would  not  have  me  think. 
A  little  while  ago  I  mi^ht  have  dreamed  anything,  for 

O  O  •/  O? 

I  was  fast  asleep.  I  was  dead  till  you  waked  me.  If  I 
were  what  girls  call  in  love,  I  should  be  impatient  to  be 
with  you  ;  but  I  love  you  much  more  than  that,  and  do 
not  need  to  be  always  with  you.  You  have  made  me 
able  to  think,  and  I  can  think  about  you !  I  was  but  a 
child,  and  you  made  a  woman  of  me  !  " 

"  God  and  Ian  did,"  said  Alister. 

"  Yes,  but  through  you,  and  I  want  to  be  worthy  of 
you.  A  woman  to  whom  a  man's  love  was  so  little 
comfort  that  she  pined  away  and  died  because  she  could 
not  be  married  to  him,  would  not  be  a  wife  worthy  of 
my  chief !  " 

"  Then  you  will  always  trust  me  ?  " 

"  I  will.  When  one  really  knows  another,  then  all  is 
safe ! " 

"  How  many  people  do  you  know  ?  "  asked  the  chief. 

She  thought  a  moment,  and  with  a  little  laugh,  re- 
plied, 

«  You." 

"  Pardon  me,  Mercy,  but  I  do  want  to  know  how 
your  father  treats  you  !  " 


MIDNIGHT.  467 


"  We  will  not  talk  about  him,  please.  He  is  my 
father  !  —  and  so  far  yours  that  you  are  bound  to  make 
what  excuse  you  can  for  him." 

"  That  I  am  bound  to  do,  if  he  were  no  father  to  either 
of  us.  It  is  what  God  is  always  doing  for  us  !  —  only 
he  will  never  let  us  off." 

"  He  has  had  no  one  to  teach  him,  Alister !  and  has 
always  been  rich,  and  accustomed  to  have  his  own  way ! 
I  begin  to  think  the  punishment  of  making  money  in  a 
wrong  way  is  to  be  prosperous  in  it !  " 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  right !  But  will  you  be  able  to 
bear  poverty,  Mercy  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  but  so  carelessly  that  she 
seemed  to  speak  without  having  thought. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  poverty  means  !  "  rejoined 
Alister.  "  We  may  have  to  endure  much  for  our 
people ! " 

"  It  means  you  any  way,  does  it  not  ?  If  you  and 
poverty  come  together,  welcome  you  and  your  friend  ! 
—  I  see  I  must  confess  a  thing !  Do  you  remember  tell- 
ing me  to  read  Julius  Ccesar  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Do  you  remember  how  Portia  gave  herself  a  wound, 
that  she  might  prove  to  her  husband  she  was  able  to 
keep  a  secret  ?  " 

"  Yes,  surely  !  " 

"  I  have  my  meals  in  my  room  now,  so  I  can  do  as  I 
please,  and  I  never  eat  the  nice  things  dear  mother 
always  sends  me,  but  potatoes  and  porridge  and  bread 
and  milk." 

"  What  is  that  for,  Mercy  ?  " 

"  To  show  you  I  am  worthy  of  being  poor  —  able  at 
least  to  be  poor.  I  have  not  once  tasted  anything  very 
nice  since  the  letter  that  made  my  father  so  angry." 


468  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  You  darling  !  " 

Of  all  men  a  Highlander  understands  independence  of 
the  kind  of  food. 

"  But,"  continued  Alister,  "  you  need  not  go  on  with 
it ;  I  am  quite  convinced ;  and  we  must  take  with 
thanksgiving  what  God  gives  us.  Besides,  you  have  to 
grow  yet ! " 

"  Alister  !  and  me  like  a  May-pole  ! " 

"  You  are  tall  enough,  but  we  are  creatures  of  three 
dimensions,  and  need  more  than  height.  You  must  eat, 
or  you  will  certainly  be  ill !  " 

"  Oh,  I  eat !  But  just  as  you  please !  Only,  it 
wouldn't  do  me  the  least  harm  so  long  as  you  didn't 
mind  !  It  was  as  much  to  prove  to  myself  I  could,  as 
to  you !  But  don't  you  think  it  must  be  nearly  time  for 
people  to  wake  from  their  first  sleep  ?  " 

The  same  instant  there  was  a  little  noise  —  like  a  sob. 
Mercy  started,  and  when  she  looked  again  Alister  had 
vanished  —  as  noiselessly  as  he  came.  For  a  moment 
she  sat  afraid  to  move.  A  wind  came  blowing  upon 
her  from  the  window  :  some  one  had  opened  her  door ! 
what  if  it  were  her  father !  She  compelled  herself  to 
turn  her  head.  It  was  something  white !  —  it  was 
Christina !  She  came  to  her  through  the  shadow  of  the 
moonlight,  put  her  arms  round  her,  and  pressed  to  her  hot 
face  a  wet  cheek.  For  a  moment  or  two  neither  spoke. 

"  I  heard  every  word,  Mercy,"  sobbed  Christina. 
"  Forgive  me ;  I  meant  no  harm ;  I  only  wanted  to 
know  if  you  were  awake  ;  I  was  coming  to  see  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Chrissy  !   that  was  good  of  you !  " 

"  You  are  a  dear !  —  and  so  is  your  chief !  I  am  sorry 
I  scared  him  !  It  made  me  so  miserable  to  hear  you  so 
happy  I  could  not  help  it !  Would  you  mind  forgiving 
me,  dear  ?  " 


MIDNIGHT.  469 


"  I  don't  mind  it  a  bit.  I  am  glad  you  should  know 
how  the  chief  loves  me  !  " 

"  But  you  must  be  careful,  dear  !  Papa  might  pre- 
tend to  take  him  for  a  robber,  and  shoot  at  him !  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Chrissy  !  he  wouldn't  do  that !  " 

"  I  would  not  be  too  sure  !  I  hadn't  an  idea  before 
what  papa  was  like  !  Oh  what  men  are,  and  what  they 
can  be !  I  shall  never  hold  up  my  head  again  !  " 

With  this  incoherent  speech,  to  Mercy's  astonish- 
ment and  consternation,  she  burst  into  tears.  Mercy 
tried  to  comfort  her,  but  did  not  know  how.  She  had 
seen  for  some  time  that  there  was  a  difference  in  her, 
that  something  was  the  matter,  and  wondered  whether 
she  could  be  missing  Ian,  but  it  was  merest  surmise. 
Perhaps  now  she  would  tell  her ! 

She  was  weeping  like  a  child  on  her  shoulder.  Pres- 
ently she  began  to  tremble.  Mercy  coaxed  her  into  her 
bed,  and  undressing  quickly,  lay  down  beside  her,  and 
took  her  in  her  arms  to  make  her  warm.  Before  the 
morning,  with  many  breaks  of  sobbing  and  weeping, 
Christina  had  told  Mercy  her  story. 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  tell  the  chief  !  "  she  said. 
"  He  would  know  how  to  comfort  you." 

"  Thank  you ! "  said  Christina,  with  not  a  little  indig- 
nation. "I  forgot  I  was  talking  to  a  girl  as  good  as 
married,  who  would  not  keep  my  secret  any  more  than 
her  own  !  " 

She  would  have  risen  at  once  to  go  to  her  own  room, 
and  the  night  that  had  brought  such  joy  to  Mercy 
threatened  to  end  very  sadly.  She  threw  her  arms 
round  Christina's  waist,  locked  her  hands  together,  and 
held  her  fast. 

"  Hear  me,  Chrissy,  darling !  I  am  a  great  big  huge 
brute,"  she  cried.  "  But  I  was  only  stupid.  I  would 


470  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

not  tell  a  secret  of  yours  even  to  Alister  —  not  for 
worlds!  If  I  did,  he  would  be  nearer  despising  me 
than  I  should  know  how  to  bear.  I  will  not  tell  him. 
Did  I  ever  break  my  word  to  you,  Chrissy  ?  " 

"  No,  never,  Mercy  !  "  responded  Christina,  and  turn- 
ing she  put  her  arms  round  her. 

"  Besides,"  she  went  on, "  why  should  I  go  to  anyone 
for  counsel?  Could  I  have  a  better  counsellor  than 
Ian  ?  Is  he  not  my  friend  ?  Oh,  he  is !  he  is !  he  said 
so !  he  said  so ! " 

The  words  prefaced  another  storm  of  weeping. 

"  He  is  going  to  write  to  me,"  she  sobbed,  as  soon  as 
she  could  again  speak. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  love  you  yet,  Chrissy  ! " 

"  No,  no ;  he  will  never  love  me  that  way !  For  good- 
ness' sake  don't  hint  at  such  a  thing !  I  should  not  be 
able  to  write  a  word  to  him,  if  I  thought  that !  I  should 
feel  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  !  I  have  done  with  tricks 
and  pretendings !  Ian  shall  never  say  to  himself,  '  I 
wish  I  had  not  trusted  that  girl !  I  thought  she  was 
going  to  be  honest !  But  what's  bred  in  the  bone  — ! ' 
I  declare,  Mercy,  I  should  blush  myself  out  of  being  to 
learn  he  thought  of  me  like  that !  I  mean  to  be  worthy 
of  his  friendship  !  His  friendship  is  better  than  any 
other  man's  love !  I  will  be  worthy  of  it ! " 

The  poor  girl  burst  again  into  tears  —  not  so  bitter  as 
before,  and  ended  them  all  at  once  with  a  kiss  to  Mercy. 

"  For  his  sake,"  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to  take  care  of 
Alister  and  you !  " 

"  Thank  you !  thank  you,  Chrissy !  only  you  must 
not  do  anything  to  offend  papa  !  It  is  hard  enough  on 
him  as  it  is !  I  cannot  give  up  the  chief  to  please  him, 
for  he  has  been  a  father  to  my  better  self ;  but  we  must 
do  nothing  to  trouble  him  that  we  can  help ! " 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

SOMETHING     STKANGE. 

A  LISTER  did  not  feel  inclined  to  go  home.  The 
-£^_  night  was  more  like  Mercy,  and  he  lingered  with 
the  night,  inhabiting  the  dream  that  it  was  Mercy's 
house,  and  she  in  the  next  room.  He  turned  into  the 
castle,  climbed  the  broken  steps,  and  sat  on  the  corner 
of  the  wall,  the  blank  hill  before  him,  asleep  standing, 
with  the  New  House  on  its  shoulder,  and  the  moonlight 
reflected  from  Mercy's  window  under  which  he  had  so 
lately  stood.  He  sat  for  an  hour,  and  when  he  came 
down,  was  as  much  disinclined  to  go  home  as  before : 
he  could  not  rest  in  his  chamber,  with  no  Ian  on  the 
other  side  of  its  wall !  He  went  straying  down  the 
road,  into  the  valley,  along  the  burn-side,  up  the  steep 
beyond  it,  and  away  to  the  hill-farm  and  the  tomb. 

The  moon  was  with  him  all  the  way,  but  she  seemed 
thinking  to  herself  rather  than  talking  to  him.  Why 
should  the  strange,  burnt-out  old  cinder  of  a  satellite 
be  the  star  of  lovers  ?  The  answer  lies  hid,  I  suspect, 
in  the  mysteries  of  light  reflected, 

He  wandered  along,  careless  of  time,  of  moonset, 
star-shine,  or  sunrise,  brooding  on  many  things  in  the 
rayless  radiance  of  his  love,  and  by  the  time  he  reached 
the  tomb,  was  weary  with  excitement  and  lack  of  sleep. 

Taking  the  key  from  where  it  was  cunningly  hidden, 
he  unlocked  the  door  and  entered.  He  started  back 
at  sight  of  a  gray  haired  old  man,  seated  on  one  of  the 
471 


472  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

stone  chairs,  and  leaning  sadly  over  the  fireless  hearth : 
it  must  be  his  uncle  !  The  same  moment  he  saw  it  was  a 
ray  from  the  sinking  moon,  entering  by  the  small,  deep 
window,  and  shining  feebly  on  the  chair.  He  struck  a 
light,  kindled  the  peats  on  the  hearth,  and  went  for  water. 
Returning  from  the  well,  he  found  the  house  dark  as  be- 
fore ;  and  there  was  the  old  man  again,  cowering  over  the 
extinguished  fire  !  The  idea  lasted  but  a  moment ;  once 
more  the  level  light  of  the  moon  lay  cold  and  gray 
upon  the  stone-chair !  He  tried  to  laugh  at  his  fanci- 
fulness,  but  did  not  quite  succeed.  Several  times  on 
the  way  up,  he  had  thought  of  his  old  uncle  :  this  must 
have  given  the  shape  to  the  moonlight  and  the  stone. 
He  made  several  attempts  to  recall  the  illusion,  but  in 
vain,  re-lighted  the  fire,  and  put  on  the  kettle.  Going 
then  for  a  book  to  read  till  the  water  boiled,  he  remem- 
bered a  letter  which,  in  the  excitement  of  the  after- 
noon, he  had  put  in  his  pocket  unread,  and  forgotten. 
It  was  from  the  family  lawyer  in  Glasgow,  informing 
him  that  the  bank  in  which  his  uncle  had  deposited  the 
proceeds  of  his  sale  of  the  land,  was  in  a  state  of  ab- 
solute and  irrecoverable  collapse  ;  there  was  not  the 
slightest  hope  of  retrieving  any  portion  of  the  wreck. 

Alister  did  not  jump  up  and  pace  the  room  in  the 
rage  of  disappointment ;  neither  did  he  sit  as  one 
stunned  and  forlorn  of  sense.  He  felt  some  bitterness 
in  the  loss  of  the  hope  of  making  up  to  his  people  for 
his  uncle's  wrong;  but  it  was  clear  that  if  God  had 
cared  for  his  having  the  money,  he  would  have  cared 
that  he  should  have  it.  Here  was  an  opportunity  for 
absolute  faith  and  contentment  in  the  will  that  looks 
after  all  our  affairs,  the  small  as  well  as  the  great. 

Those  who  think  their  affairs  too  insignificant  for 
God's  regard,  will  justify  themselves  in  lying  crushed 


SOMETHING    STRANGE.  473 

under  their  seeming  ruin.  Either  we  live  in  the  heart 
of  an  eternal  thought,  or  we  are  the  product  and  sport 
of  that  which  is  lower  than  we. 

"  It  was  evil  money  !  "  said  the  chief  to  himself ;  "  it 
was  the  sale  of  a  birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage !  I 
would  have  turned  it  back  into  the  right  channel,  the 
good  of  my  people  !  but  after  all,  what  can  money  do  ? 
It  was  discontent  with  poverty  that  began  the  ruin  of 
the  highlands!  If  the  heads  of  the  people  had  but 
lived,  pure,  active,  sober,  unostentatious  lives,  content  to 
be  poor,  poverty  would  never  have  overwhelmed  them ! 
Therewith  it  dawned  upon  Alister  how,  when  he  longed 
to  help  his  people,  his  thoughts  had  always  turned,  not 
to  God  first ;  but  to  the  money  his  uncle  had  left  him. 
He  had  trusted  in  a  fancy  —  no  less  a  fancy  when  in  his 
uncle's  hands  than  when  cast  into  the  quicksand  of  the 
bank ;  for  trust  in  money  that  is,  is  no  less  vain,  and  is 
farther  from  redress,  than  trust  in  money  that  is  not. 
In  God  alone  can  trust  repose.  His  heart  had  been  so 
faithless  that  he  did  not  know  it  was!  He  thought 
he  loved  God  as  the  first  and  last,  the  beginning, 
middle,  and  end  of  all  things,  and  he  had  been  trusting, 
not  in  God,  but  in  uncertain  riches,  that  is  in  vile 
mammon !  It  was  a  painful  and  humiliating  discovery. 
"  It  was  well,"  he  said,  "  that  my  false  deity  should  be 
taken  from  me !  For  my  idolatry  perhaps,  a  good  gift 
has  failed  to  reach  my  people !  I  must  be  more  to  them 
than  ever,  to  make  up  to  them  for  their  loss  with  better 
than  money ! " 

He  fell  on  his  knees,  and  thanked  God  for  the  wind 
that  had  blown  cold  through  his  spirit,  and  slain  at 
least  one  evil  thing ;  when  he  rose,  all  that  was  left  of 
his  trouble  was  a  lump  in  his  throat,  which  melted 
away  as  he  walked  home  through  the  morning  air  on 


474  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

the  hills.  For  he  could  not  delay;  he  must  let  his 
mother  know  their  trouble,  and,  as  one  who  had  already 
received  help  from  on  high,  help  her  to  bear  it !  If  the 
messenger  of  Satan  had  buffeted  him,  he  had  but 

o  / 

broken  a  way  for  strength  ! 

But  at  first  he  could  not  enjoy  as  he  was  wont  the 
glory  of  the  morning.  It  troubled  him.  Would  a  sin- 
gle note  in  the  song  of  the  sons  of  the  morning  fail 
because  God  did  or  would  not  do  a  thing  ?  Could  God 
deserve  less  than  perfect  thanks  from  any  one  of  his 
creatures  ?  That  man  could  not  know  God  who  thanked 
him  but  for  what  men  call  good  things,  nor  took  the 
evil  as  from  the  same  love  !  He  scorned  himself,  and 
lifted  up  his  heart  to  God.  As  he  reached  the  brow  of 
his  last  descent,  the  sun  rose,  and  with  it  his  soul  arose 
and  shone,  for  its  light  was  come,  and  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  was  risen  upon  it.  "  Let  God,"  he  said,  "  take 
from  us  what  he  will :  himself  he  can  only  give ! " 
Joyful  he  went  down  the  hill.  God  was,  and  all  was 
well! 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE    POWER   OF    DARKNESS. 

HE  found  his  mother  at  breakfast,  wondering  what 
had  become  of  him. 

"Are  you  equal  to  a  bit  of  bad  news,  mother?"  he 
asked  with  a  smile. 

The  mother's  thoughts  flew  instantly  to  Ian. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  about  Ian  !  "  said  the  chief,  answer- 
ing her  look. 

Its  expression  changed  ;  she  hoped  now  it  was  some 
fresh  obstacle  between  him  and  Mercy. 

"  No,  mother,  it  is  not  that  either ! "  said  Alister, 
again  answering  her  look  —  with  a  sad  one  of  his  own, 
for  the  lack  of  his  mother's  sympathy  was  the  sorest 
trouble  he  had.  "  It  is  only  that  uncle's  money  is  gone 
—  all  gone." 

She  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  gave  a  little  sigh,  and 
said, 

"  Well,  it  will  all  be  over  soon !  In  the  meantime 
things  are  no  worse  than  they  were!  His  will  be 
done ! " 

"  I  should  have  liked  to  make  a  few  friends  with  the 
mammon  of  unrighteousness  before  we  were  turned  out 
naked ! " 

"We  shall  have  plenty,"  answered  the  mother 
"  —  God  himself,  and  a  few  beside  !  If  you  could  make 
friends  with  the  mammon,  you  can  make  friends  with- 
out it ! " 

475 


476  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Yes,  that  is  happily  true  !  Ian  says  it  was  only  a 
lesson  for  the  wise  and  prudent  with  money  in  their 
pockets  —  a  lesson  suited  to  their  limited  reception !  " 

As  they  spoke,  Nancy  entered. 

"Please,  laird,"  she  said,  «  Donal  shoemaker  is  want- 
ing to  see  you." 

"  Tell  him  to  come  in,"  answered  the  chief. 

Donal  entered  and  stood  up  by  the  door,  with  his 
bonnet  under  his  arm  —  a  little  man  with  puckered  face, 
the  puckers  radiating  from  or  centering  in  the  mouth, 
which  he  seemed  to  untie  like  a  money-bag,  and  pull 
open  by  means  of  a  smile,  before  he  began  to  speak. 
The  chief  shook  hands  with  him,  and  asked  how  he 
could  serve  him. 

"It  will  not  be  to  your  pleasure  to  know,  Macruadh," 
said  Donal,  humbly  declining  to  sit,  "that  I  have 
received  this  day  notice  to  quit  my  house  and 
garden ! " 

The  house  was  a  turf-cottage,  and  the  garden  might 
grow  two  bushels  and  a  half  of  potatoes. 

"  Are  you  far  behind  with  your  rent  ?  " 

"  Not  a  quarter,  Macruadh." 

"  Then  what  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means,  sir,  that  Strathruadh  is  to  be  given  to  the 
red  deer,  and  the  son  of  man  have  nowhere  to  lay  his 
head.  I  am  the  first  at  your  door  with  my  sorrow,  but 
before  the  day  is  over  you  will  have " 

Here  he  named  four  or  five  who  had  received  like 
notice  to  quit. 

"  It  is  a  sad  business !  "  said  the  chief  sorrowfully. 

"Is  it  law,  sir?" 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  say  what  is  law,  Donal ;  certainly 
it  is  not  gospel !  As  a  matter  of  course  you  will  not 
be  without  shelter,  so  long  as  I  may  call  stone  or  turf 


THE    POWER   OF    DARKNESS.  477 

mine,  but  things  are  looking  bad !  Things  as  well  as 
souls  are  in  God's  hands  however !  " 

"  I  learn  from  the  new  men  on  the  hills,"  resumed 
Donal,  "  that  the  new  lairds  have  conspired  to  exter- 
minate us.  They  have  discovered,  apparently,  that  the 
earth  was  not  made  for  man,  but  for  rich  men  and 
beasts  !  "  Here  the  little  man  paused,  and  his  insignifi- 
cant face  grew  in  expression  grand.  "  But  the  day  of 
the  Lord  will  come,"  he  went  on,  "as  a  thief  in  the 
night.  Vengeance  is  his,  and  he  will  know  where  to 
give  many  stripes,  and  where  few. — What  would  you 
have  us  do,  laird  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  village." 

"  No,  if  you  please,  sir !  Better  men  will  be  at  your 
door  presently  to  put  the  same  question,  for  they  will 
do  nothing  without  the  Macruadh.  We  are  no  more  on 
your  land,  great  is  our  sorrow,  chief,  but  we  are  of  your 
blood,  you  are  our  lord,  and  your  will  is  ours.  You 
have  been  a  nursing  father  to  us,  Macruadh  ! " 

"  I  would  fain  be !  "  answered  the  chief. 

"  They  will  want  to  know  whether  these  strangers  have 
the  right  to  turn  us  out ;  and  if  they  have  not  the  right 
to  disseize,  whether  we  have  not  the  right  to  resist.  If 
you  would  have  us  fight,  and  will  head  us,  we  will  fall 
to  a  man  —  for  fall  we  must ;  we  cannot  think  to  stand 
before  the  redcoats." 

"  No,  no,  Donal !  It  is  not  a  question  of  the  truth  ; 
that  we  should  be  bound  to  die  for,  of  course.  It  is  only 
our  rights  that  are  concerned,  and  they  are  not  worth 
dying  for.  •  That  would  be  mere  pride,  and  denial  of 
God  who  is  fighting  for  us.  At  least  so  it  seems  at 
the  moment  to  me  ! " 

"  Some  of  us  would  fain  fight  and  have  done  with  it, 
sir!" 


478  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

But  the  chief  could  not  help  smiling  with  pleasure  at 
the  little  man's  warlike  readiness :  he  knew  it  was  no 
empty  boast ;  what  there  was  of  him  was  good  stuff. 

"  You  have  a  wife  and  children,  Donal !  "  he  said  ; 
"  what  would  become  of  them  if  you  fell  ?  " 

"  My  sister  was  turned  out  in  the  cold  spring,"  an- 
swered Donal,  "  and  died  in  Glencalvu !  It  would  be 
better  to  die  together !  " 

"But,  Donal,  none  of  yours  will  die  of  cold,  and  T 
can't  let  you  fight,  because  the  wrives  and  children  will 
all  come  on  my  hands,  and  I  shall  have  too  many  for 
my  meal !  No,  we  must  not  fight.  We  may  have  a 
right  to  fight,  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  am  sure  we  have 
at  least  the  right  to  abstain  from  it." 

"  Will  the  law  not  help  us,  Macruadh  ?  " 

"The  law  is  such  a  slow  coach!  our  enemies  are  so 
rich  !  and  the  lawyers  have  little  love  of  righteousness ! 
Most  of  them  would  see  the  dust  on  our  heads  to  have 
the  picking  of  our  bones !  Stick  nor  stone  would  be 
left  us,  before  anything  came  of  it ! " 

"  But,  sir,"  said  Donal,  "  is  it  the  part  of  brave  men  to 
give  up  their  rights  ?  " 

"  No  man  can  take  from  us  our  rights,"  answered  the 
chief,  "  but  any  man  rich  enough  may  keep  us  from 
getting  any  good  of  them.  I  say  again  we  are  not 
bound  to  insist  on  our  rights.  We  may  decline  to  do 
so,  and  that  way  leave  them  to  God  to  look  after  for 
us!" 

"  God  does  not  always  give  men  their  rights,  sir !  I 
don't  believe  he  cares  about  our  small  matters  ! " 

"  Nothing  that  God  does  not  care  about  can  be  worth 
our  caring  about.  But,  Donal,  how  dare  you  say  as 
you  do  ?  Have  you  lived  to  all  eternity  ?  How  do  you 
know  what  you  say  ?  God  does  care  for  our  rights.  A 


THE    POWER   OF    DARKNESS.  479 

day  is  coming,  as  you  have  just  said,  when  he  will  judge 
the  oppressors  of  their  brethren." 

"  We  shall  be  all  dead  and  buried  long  before  then ! " 

"  As  he  pleases,  Donal !  He  is  my  chief.  I  will  have 
what  he  wills,  not  what  I  should  like !  A  thousand 
years  I  will  wait  for  my  rights  if  he  chooses.  I  will 
trust  him  to  do  splendidly  for  me.  No ;  I  will  have  no 
other  way  than  my  chiefs!  He  will  set  everything 
straight ! " 

"  You  must  be  right,  sir !  I  only  can't  help  wishing 
for  the  old  times,  when  a  man  could  strike  a  blow  for 
himself ! " 

With  all  who  came  Alister  held  similar  talk ;  for 
though  they  were  not  all  so  warlike  as  the  cobbler,  they 
keenly  felt  the  wrong  that  was  done  them,  and  would 
mostly,  but  for  a  doubt  of  its  rectitude,  have  opposed 
force  with  force.  It  would  at  least  bring  their  case 
before  the  country  ! 

"  The  case  is  before  a  higher  tribunal,"  answered  the 
laird ;  "  and  one's  country  is  no  incarnation  of  justice! 
How  could  she  be,  made  up  mostly  of  such  as  do  not 
love  fair  play  except  in  the  abstract,  or  for  themselves! 
The  wise  thingr  is  to  submit  to  wronsr." 

c?  o 

It  is  in  our  own  thoughts  and  our  own  actions,  that 
we  have  first  to  stand  up  for  the  right ;  our  business  is 
not  to  protect  ourselves  from  our  neighbor's  wrong, 
but  our  neighbor  from  our  wrong.  This  is  to  slay  evil ; 
the  other  is  to  make  it  multiply.  A  man  who  would 
pull  out  even  a  mote  from  his  brother's  eye,  must  first 
pull  out  the  beam  from  his  own  eye,  must  be  righteous 
against  his  own  selfishness.  That  is  the  only  way  to 
wound  the  root  of  evil.  He  who  teaches  his  neighbor 
to  insist  on  his  rights,  is  not  a  teacher  of  righteousness. 
He  who,  by  fulfilling  his  own  duties,  teaches  his  neigh- 


480  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

bor  to  give  every  man  the  fair  play  he  owes  him,  is  a 
fellow- worker  with  God. 

But  although  not  a  few  of  the  villagers  spoke  in 
wrath,  and  counselled  resistance,  not  one  of  them  re- 
joiced in  the  anticipation  of  disorder.  Heartily  did 
Rob  of  the  Angels  counsel  peace,  but  his  words  had  the 
less  force  that  he  was  puny  in  person,  and,  although 
capable  of  great  endurance,  unnoted  for  deeds  of 
strength.  Evil  birds  carried  the  words  of  natural  and 
righteous  anger  to  the  ears  of  the  new  laird ;  no  good 
birds  bore  the  wcg'ds  of  appeasement :  he  concluded 
after  his  kind  that  their  chief  countenanced  a  determined 
resistance. 

On  all  sides  the  horizon  was  dark  about  the  remnant 
of  Clanruadh.  Poorly  as  they  lived  in  Strathruadh, 
they  knew  no  place  else  wrhere  they  could  live  at  all. 
Separated,  and  so  disabled  from  making  common  cause 
against  want,  they  must  perish  !  But  their  horizon  was 
not  heaven,  and  God  was  beyond  it. 

It  was  a  great  comfort  to  the  chief  that  in  the  matter 
of  his  clan  his  mother  agreed  with  him  altogether ;  to 
the  last  penny  of  their  having  they  must  help  their  peo- 
ple !  Those  wrho  feel  as  if  the  land  were  their  own,  do 
fearful  wrongs  to  their  own  souls !  What  grandest 
opportunities  of  growing  divine  they  lose  !  Instead  of 
being  man-nobles,  leading  a  sumptuous  life  until  it  no 
longer  looks  sumptuous,  they  might  be  God-nobles  — 
saviours  of  men  yielding  themselves  to  and  for  their 
brethren  !  What  friends  might  they  not  make  with  the 
mammon  of  unrighteousness,  instead  of  passing  hence 
into  a  region  where  no  doors,  no  arms  will  be  open  to 
them !  Things  are  ours  that  we  may  use  them  for  all  — 
sometimes  that  we  may  sacrifice  them.  God  had  but 
one  precious  thing,  and  he  gave  that  I 


THE    POWER    OF   DARKNESS.  481 

The  chief,  although  he  saw  that  the  proceedings  of 
Mr.  Palmer  and  Mr.  Smith  must  have  been  determined 
upon  while  his  relation  to  Mercy  was  yet  undeclared, 
could  not  help  imagining  how  differently  it  might  have 
gone  with  his  people,  were  he  married  to  Mercy,  and  in 
a  good  understanding  with  her  father.  Had  he  indeed 
crippled  his  reach  toward  men  by  the  narrowness  of  his 
conscience  toward  God  ?  So  long  as  he  did  what  seemed 
right,  he  must  regret  no  consequences,  even  for  the  sake 
of  others !  God  would  mind  others  as  well  as  him ! 
Every  sequence  of  right,  even  to  tiae  sword  and  fire, 
are  God's  care ;  he  will  justify  himself  in  the  eyes  of 
the  true,  nor  heed  the  judgment  of  the  false. 

One  thing  was  clear  —  that  it  would  do  but  harm  to 
beg  of  Mr.  Palmer  any  pity  for  his  people  :  it  would  but 
give  zest  to  his  rejoicing  in  iniquity !  Something  must 
be  determined,  and  speedily,  for  winter  was  at  hand. 

The  Macruadh  had  to  consider  not  only  the  imme- 
diate accommodation  of  the  ejected,  but  how  they  were 
to  be  maintained.  Such  was  his  difficulty  that  he  began 
to  long  for  such  news  from  Ian  as  would  justify  an 
exodus  from  their  own  country,  not  the  less  a  land  of 
bondage,  to  a  home  in  the  wilderness.  But  ah,  what 
would  then  the  land  of  his  fathers  without  its  people  be 
to  him  !  It  would  be  no  more  worthy  the  name  of 
land,  no  longer  fit  to  be  called  a  possession  !  He  knew 
then  that  the  true  love  of  the  land  is  one  with  the  love 
of  its  people.  To  live  on  it  after  they  were  gone,  would 
be  like  making  a  home  of  the  family  mausoleum.  The 
rich  "  pant  after  the  dust  of  the  earth  on  the  head  of  the 
poor,"  but  what  would  any  land  become  without  the 
poor  in  it  ?  The  poor  are  blessed  because  by  their 
poverty  they  are  open  to  divine  influences ;  they  are 
the  buckets  set  out  to  catch  the  rain  of  heaven  ;  they 


482  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

are  the  salt  of  the  earth !  The  poor  are  to  be  always 
with  a  nation  for  its  best  blessing,  or  for  its  condemna- 
tion and  ruin.  The  chief  saw  the  valleys  of  his  country 
desolate  of  the  men  readiest  and  ablest  to  fight  her  bat- 
tles. For  the  sake  of  greedy,  low-minded  men,  the  cry 
of  the  war-pipes  would  be  heard  no  more,  or  would 
sound  in  vain  among  the  manless  rocks ;  from  sheilin, 
cottage,  or  clachan  would  spring  no  kilted  warriors 
with  battle  response  !  The  red  deer  and  the  big  sheep 
had  taken  the  place  of  men  over  many  miles  upon  miles 
of  mountain  and  strath  and  moor  !  His  heart  bled  for 
the  sufferings  and  wrongs  of  those  whose  ancestors  died 
to  keep  the  country  free  which  would  expel  their  pro- 
geny. But  even  then  the  vengeance  had  begun  to 
gather,  though  our  generation  has  not  yet  seen  it  break. 
It  must  be  that  offences  come ;  but  woe  unto  them  by 
whom  they  come ! 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

THE    NEW    STANCE. 

Macruadh  cast  his  mind's,  and  his  body's  eye 
too,  upon  the  small  strip  of  ground  on  the  west 
side  of  the  castle-ridge,  between  it  and  the  tiny  tribu- 
tary of  the  strath  burn,  forming  here  the  boundary 
between  the  lands  of  the  two  lairds.  The  slope  of  the 
ridge  on  this  side  was  not  so  steep,  and  before  the 
rock  sank  into  the  deep  alluvial  soil  of  the  valley,  it 
became  for  a  few  yards  nearly  level  —  sufficiently  so, 
with  a  little  smoothing  and  raising,  to  serve  for  a  foun- 
dation. In  front  was  a  narrow  but  rich  piece  of  ground, 
the  bank  of  the  little  brook.  Before  many  days  were 
over,  men  were  at  work  there,  in  full  sight  of  the  upper 
windows  of  the  New  House.  It  was  not  at  first  clear 
what  they  were  about ;  but  soon  began  to  rise,  plain 
enough,  the  walls  of  cottages,  some  of  stone,  and  some 
of  turf ;  and  Mr.  Palmer  saw  a  new  village  already  in 
process  of  construction,  to  take  the  place  of  that  about 
to  be  destroyed !  The  enemy  had  but  moved  his  camp, 
to  pitch  it  under  his  very  walls !  It  filled  him  with  the 
rage  of  defeat.  The  poor  man  who  scorned  him  was 
going  to  be  too  much  for  him !  Not  yet  was  he  any 
nearer  to  being  placed  alone  in  the  midst  of  the  earth. 
He  thought  to  have  rid  himself  of  all  those  hateful 
faces,  full  of  their  chief's  contempt,  he  imagined,  and 
ever  eying  him  as  an  intruder  on  his  own  land ;  but  in- 
stead of  getting  rid  of  them,  here  was  their  filthy  little 

483 


484  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

hamlet  of  hovels  growing  like  a  fungus  just  under  his 
nose,  put  there  expressly  to  spite  him !  Thinking  to 
destroy  it,  he  had  merely  sent  for  it !  When  the  wind 
was  in  the  east,  the  smoke  of  their  miserable  cabins 
would  be  blown  in  at  his  dining-room  windows !  It  was 
useless  to  expostulate  !  That  he  would  not  like  it  was 
of  course  the  chief's  first  reason  for  choosing  that  one 
spot  as  the  site  of  his  new  rookery  !  The  fellow  had 
stolen  a  march  upon  him!  And  what  had  he  done  be- 
yond what  was  absolutely  necessary  for  the  improve- 
ment of  his  property  !  The  people  were  in  his  way,  and 
he  only  wanted  to  get  rid  of  them !  And  here  their 
chief  had  brought  them  almost  into  his  garden !  and 
doubtless,  if  his  land  had  come  near  enough,  he 
would  have  built  his  sty  at  the  very  gate  of  his 
shrubbery !  The  fellow  could  not  like  having  them 
so  near  himself!  and  what  benefit  could  it  be  sup- 
posed to  do  the  miserable  wretches !  it  could  but 
encourage  their  dirty  pride  and  laziness  !  For  their  land- 
lord, it  was  only  helping  him  to  keep  up  the  foolish  fiction 
of  his  chieftainship !  In  a  word  the  Macruadh  was  so 
plainly  in  the  wrong,  that  but  for  the  state  of  things 
between  them,  he  would  have  tried  expostulation !  It 
was  impossible  when  the  hope  of  bringing  him  to  terms 
was  at  the  root  of  his  whole  behavior !  lie  would  find 
he  was  mistaken ! 

He  talked  of  the  thing  openly,  and  let  his  whole 
household  see  how  annoying  is  was  to  him.  He  had 
not  the  least  doubt  that  it  was  done  purely  to  irritate 
him.  Christina  ventured  the  suggestion  that  Mr.  Smith 
and  not  the  chief  was  the  author  of  the  inconvenience. 
What  did  that  matter!  he  returned.  What  right  had 
the  chief,  as  she  called  him,  to  interfere  between  a 
landlord  and  his  tenants  !  Christina  hinted  that,  being 


THE    NEW    STANCE.  485 

evicted  by  their  landlord,  they  ceased  to  be  his  tenants, 
and  even  were  he  not  their  chief,  he  could  not  be  said 
to  interfere  when  he  gave  his  aid  to  the  destitute. 
Thereupon  he  burst  at  her  in  a  way  that  terrified  her : 
she  had  never  even  been  checked  by  him  before,  had 
often  been  impertinent  to  him  without  rebuke.  The 
man  seemed  entirely  changed,  but  in  truth  he  was  no 
whit  changed.  Things  had  occurred  capable  of  bringing 
out  the  facts  of  his  nature.  Her  mother,  who  had  not 
dared  to  speak  at  the  time,  expostulated  with  her  after- 
wards. 

<%Why  should  papa  never  be  told  the  truth  ? "  she 
answered. 

The  mother  was  on  the  point  of  replying,  "Because 
he  will  not  hear  it,"  but  saw  she  owed  it  to  her  husband 
not  to  say  so  to  his  child. 

"  Christina,"  she  returned,  "  no  good  will  ever 
come  to  the  child  who  does  not  respect  her* own 
father!" 

Mercy  said  to  herself,  "  It  is  not  to  annoy  my  father 
he  does  it,  but  to  do  what  he  can  for  his  people.  He 
does  not  even  know  how  unpleasant  it,  is  to  my  father 
to  have  them  so  near !  It  must  be  one  of  the  punish- 
ments of  riches  that  they  make  the  sight  of  poverty  so 
disagreeable  !  To  luxury,  poverty  is  a  living  reproach." 
She  longed  to  see  Alister  that  she  might  learn  if  any- 
thing might  be  done  to  mitigate  the  offence.  But  she 
dared  not  propose  the  thing  to  her  father ;  he  would 
never  consent  to  use  her  influence  !  Perhaps  her  mother 
might  consent  to  try  it ! 

She  suggested  the  thing  therefore,  saying  she  was 
certain  Alister  would  do  nothing  for  the  sake  of  annoy- 
ing her  father,  and  that  she  did  not  believe  he  had  any 
idea  how  annoying  this  thing  was  to  him :  if  her  mother 


486  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

would  contrive  her  going  to  see  him,  she  could  repre- 
sent the  thing  to  the  chief ! 

Mrs.  Palmer  was  of  Mercy's  opinion  regarding  the 
purity  of  Alister's  intent,  and  promised  to  think  the 
matter  over.  The  next  night  her  husband  was  going 
to  spend  at  Mr.  Smith's :  the  project  might  be  carried 
out  in  safety !  The  thing  should  be  done  !  They  would 
go  together,  in  the  hope  of  persuading  the  chief  to 
change  the  site  of  his  village ! 

When  it  was  dark  they  walked  to  the  cottage,  and 
knocking  at  the  door,  asked  Nancy  if  the  chief  were  at 
home.  The  girl  invited  them  to  enter,  though  *not 
with  her  usual  cordiality;  but  Mrs.  Palmer  declined, 
requesting  her  to  let  the  chief  know  they  were  there, 
desirous  of  a  word  with  him. 

Alister  was  at  the  door  in  a  moment,  and  wanted 
them  to  go  in  and  see  his  mother,  but  a  moment's  re- 
flection made  him  glad  of  their  refusal. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  all  that  has  happened  ! "  said  Mrs. 
Palmer.  "  You  know  I  can  have  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it !  There  is  not  a  man  I  should  like  for  a  son-in- 
law  better  than  yourself,  Macruadh  ;  but  I  am  helpless." 

"I  quite  understand,"  replied  the  chief,  "and  thank 
you  heartily  for  your  kindness.  Is  there  anything  I 
can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Mercy  has  something  she  wants  to  speak  to  vou 
about." 

"  It  was  so  good  of  you  to  bring  her !  —  What  is  it, 
Mercy?" 

Without  the  least  hesitation,  Mercy  told  him  her 
father's  fancy  that  he  was  building  the  new  village  to 
spite  him,  seeing  it  could  not  be  a  pleasure  to  have  the 
smoke  from  its  chimneys  blowing  in  at  its  doors  and 
windows  as  often  as  the  wind  was  from  the  sea. 


THE    NEW    STANCE.  487 

"  I  am  sorry  but  not  surprised  your  father  should  think 
so,  Mercy.  To  trouble  him  is  as  much  against  my  feel- 
ings as  interests.  And  certainly  it  is  for  no  conven- 
ience or  comfort  to  ourselves,  that  my  mother  and  I  have 
determined  on  having  the  village  immediately  below 
us." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Mercy,  "  that  if  you  knew  how  it 
vexes  papa,  you  would  —  But  I  am  afraid  it  may  be  for 
some  reason  that  cannot  be  helped  !  " 

"  Indeed  it  is  ;  I  am  afraid  it  cannot  be  helped !  I 
must  think  of  my  people  !  You  see,  if  I  put  them  on 
the  other  side  of  the  ridge,  they  would  be  exposed  to 
the  east  wind  —  and  the  more  that  every  door  and 
window  would  have  to  be  to  the  east.  You  know  your- 
selves how  bitterly  it  blows  down  the  strath !  Besides, 
we  should  there  have  to  build  over  good  land  much  too 
damp  to  be  healthy,  every  foot  of  which  will  be  wanted 
to  feed  them !  There  they  are  on  the  rock.  I  might, 
of  course,  put  them  on  the  hillside,  but  I  have  no  place 
so  sheltered  as  here,  and  they  would  have  no  gardens. 
And  then  it  gives  me  an  opportunity,  such  as  chief 
never  had  before,  of  teaching  them  some  things  I  could 
not  otherwise.  Would  it  be  reasonable,  Mercy,  to  sac- 
rifice the  good  of  so  many  poor  people  to  spare  one 
rich  man  a  single  annoyance,  which  is  no  hurt  ?  Would 
it  be  right?  Ought  I  not  rather  to  suffer  the  rise  of 
yet  greater  obstacles  between  you  and  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Alister,  yes !  "  cried  Mercy.  "  You  must  not 
change  anything.  I  am  only  sorry  my  father  cannot 
be  taught  that  you  have  no  ill  will  to  him  in  the 
thing." 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  make  much  difference.  He 
will  never  give  you  to  me,  Mercy.  But  be  true  and 
God  will" 


488  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Would  you  mind  letting  the  flag  fly,  Alister  ?  I 
should  have  something  to  look  at !  " 

"  I  will ;  and  when  I  want  particularly  to  see  you,  I 
will  haul  it  down.  Then,  if  you  hang  a  handkerchief 
from  your  windoWj  I  will  come  to  you.77 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

THE    PEAT-MOSS. 

FOR  the  first  winter  the  Clanruadh  had  not  much  to 
fear  —  hardly  more  than  usual :  they  had  their 
small  stores  of  potatoes  and  meal,  and  some  a  poor 
trifle  of  money.  But  "  Lady  Macruadh  "  was  anxious 
lest  the  new  cottages  should  not  be  quite  dry  and  gave 
a  general  order  that  fires  were  to  be  burned  in  them  for 
some  time  before  they  were  occupied.  For  this  pur- 
pose they  must  use  their  driest  peats,  and  provide  more 
for  the  winter.  The  available  strength  of  the  clan  must 
get  the  fresh  stock  under  cover  before  the  bad  weather. 

The  peat-moss  from  which  they  cut  their  fuel,  was  at 
some  distance  from  the  castle,  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
hill-farm.  It  was  the  nearest  moss  to  the  glen,  and  the 
old  chief,  when  he  parted  with  so  much  of  the  land,  took 
care  to  except  it,  knowing  well  that  his  remaining  peo- 
ple could  not  without  it  live  through  a  winter.  But 
neither  his  brother,  the  minister,  who  succeeded  him, 
nor  the  present  chieftain,  had  ever  interfered  to  pre- 
vent the  tenants  on  the  land  sold  from  supplying  them- 
selves from  the  same  source  as  before ;  and  this  fact  it 
was  probably  that  had  generated  the  notion  that  the 
chiefs  people  had  no  right  in  the  moss,  but  supplied 
themselves  only  on  sufferance. 

The  report  was  carried  to  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer,  that 
the  tenants  Mr.  Smith  was  about  to  eject,  and  who  were 
in  consequence  affronting  him  with  a  new  hamlet  on 

489 


490 


WHAT  8    MINE  S   MINE. 


the  very  verge  of  his  lands,  had  set  about  providing 
themselves  with  a  stock  of  fuel  greatly  in  excess  oil 
what  they  had  usually  laid  in  for  the  winter ;  that  in 
fact  they  were  cutting  large  quantities  of  peat,  besides 
the  turf  for  their  new  cottages,  evidently  in  the  fear  of 
not  being  permitted  to  use  the  moss  after  ceasing  to  be 
tenants  of  Mr.  Smith  or  Mr.  Palmer.  Without  making 
the  smallest  inquiry,  or  suspecting  for  a  moment  that 
the  proceeding  might  be  justifiable,  he  determined, 
after  a  brief  consultation  with  men  who  knew  nothing 
about  the  matter  but  were  ready  to  say  anything,  to  put 
a  stop  to  the  supposed  abuse  of  privilege. 

Some  of  the  peats  cut  in  the  summer  had  not  yet 
been  removed,  not  having  dried  so  well  as  the  rest, 
and  the  owners  of  some  of  these,  two  widows,  went  to 
fetch  them  to  the  new  village,  when,  as  it  happened, 
there  was  nothing  else  going  on  at  the  moss. 

They  filled  their  creels,  helped  each  other  to  get  them 
on  their  backs,  and  set  out  on  their  weary  tramp  home. 
But  they  had  scarce  started  when  up  rose  two  of  Mr. 
Palmer's  men,  who  had  been  watching  them  all  the 
time,  cut  their  ropes  and  took  their  loads,  emptied 
the  peats  into  a  moss-hag  full  of  water,  and  threw  the 
creels  after  them.  The  poor  women  poured  out  their 
wrath  on  the  men,  telling  them  they  would  go  straight 
to  the  chief,  but  were  answered  only  with  mockery  of 
themselves  and  their  chief.  They  turned  in  despair, 
and  with  their  outcry  filled  the  hollows  of  the  hills  as 
they  went,  now  lamenting  the  loss  of  their  peats  and 
their  creels,  raging  at  the  wrong  they  had  received. 
One  of  them,  a  characterless  creature  in  the  eyes  of  her 
neighbors,  harmless,  and  always  in  want,  had  faith  in  her 
chief,  for  she  had  done  nothing  to  make  her  ashamed, 
and  would  go  to  him  at  once ;  he  had  always  a  won} 


THE    PEAT-MOSS.  491 


and  a  smile  and  a  hand-shake  for  her,  she  said.  The 
£ther,  commonly  called  Craftie,  was  unwilling :  her 
character  did  not  stand  high,  and  she  feared  the  face 
of  the  Macruadh. 

"  He  does  not  like  me !  "  said  Craftie. 

"  When  a  woman  is  in  trouble,"  said  the  other,  "  the 
Macruadh  makes  no  questions.  You  come  with  me ! 
He  will  be  glad  of  something  to  do  for  you." 

In  her  confidence  she  persuaded  her  companion,  and 
together  they  went  to  the  chief.  Having  gathered' 
courage  to  appear,  Craftie  needed  none  to  speak. 
Where  that  was  the  call,  she  was  never  slow  to  respond. 

"  Craftie,"  said  the  chief,  "  is  what  you  are  telling  me 
true?" 

"Ask  her"  answered  Craftie,  who  knew  that  asser- 
vation  on  her  part  was  not  all-convincing. 

"  She  speaks  the  truth,  Macruadh,"  said  the  other. 
"  I  will  take  my  oath  to  it." 

"  Your  word  is  enough,"  replied  the  chief,  "  —  as 
Craftie  knew  when  she  brought  you  with  her." 

"  Please,  laird,  it  was  myself  brought  Craftie ;  she 
was  not  willing  to  come  !  " 

"  Craftie,"  said  the  chief,  "  I  wish  I  could  make  a 
friend  of  you  !  But  you  know  I  can't !  " 

"  I  do  know  it,  Macruadh,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it, 
many  is  the  good  time !  But  my  door  never  had  any 
latch,  and  the  word  is  out  before  I  can  think  to  keep  it 
back !  " 

"And  so  you  send  another  and  another  to  back  the 
first !  Ah,  Craftie  !  If  purgatory  don't  do  something  for 
you,  then  —  !  " 

"  Indeed  and  I  hope  I  shall  fall  into  it  on  my  way 
farther,  chief !  "  said  Craftie,  who  happened  to  be  a 
catholic. 


492  WHAT'S  MINE'S 


"But  now,"  resumed  the  chief,  "when  will  you  be 
going  for  the  rest  of  your  peats  ?  " 

"  They're  sure  to  be  on  the  watch  for  us  ;  and  there's 
no  saying  what  they  mightn't  do  another  time  !  "  was  the 
indirect  and  hesitating  answer. 

"  I  will  go  with  you." 

"  When  you  please,  then,  chief." 

So  the  next  day  the  poor  women  went  again,  and  the 
chief  went  with  them,  their  guard  and  servant.  If 
•there  were  any  on  the  watch,  they  did  not  appear. 
The  Macruadh  fished  out  their  creels,  and  put  them  on 
a  rock  to  dry,  then  helped  them  to  fill  those  they  had 
borrowed  for  the  occasion.  Returning,  he  carried  now 
the  one,  now  the  other  creel,  so  that  one  of  the  women 
was  always  free.  The  new  laird  met  them  on  the  road, 
and  recognized  with  a  scornful  pleasure  the  chief  bend- 
ing under  his  load.  That  was  the  fellow  who  wanted  to 
be  his  son-in-law  ! 

About  this  time  Sercombe  and  Valentine  came  again 
to  the  New  House.  Sercombe,  although  he  had  of  late 
had  no  encouragement  from  Christina,  was  not  there- 
fore prepared  to  give  her  up,  and  came  "  to  press  the 
siege."  He  found  the  lady's  reception  of  him  so  far 
from  cordial,  however,  that  he  could  not  but  suspect  some 
new  adverse  influence.  He  saw  too  that  Mercy  was  in 
disgrace  ;  and,  as  Ian  was  gone,  concluded  there  must 
have  been  something  between  them  :  had  the  chief  been 
trying  "  it  on  "  with  Christina  ?  The  brute  was  always 
getting  in  his  way  !  But  some  chance  of  serving  him 
out  was  certain  to  turn  up  ! 

For  the  first  suitable  day,  Alister  had  arranged  an 
expedition  from  the  village,  with  all  the  carts  that  could 
be  got  together,  to  bring  home  as  many  peats  as  horses 
and  men  and  wromen  could  together  carry.  The  com- 


THE    PEAT-MOSS.  493 


pany  was  seen  setting  out,  and  report  of  it  carried  at 
once  to  Mr.  Palmer  ;  for  he  had  set  watch  on  the  doings 
of  the  clan.  Within  half  an  hour  he  set  out  with  the 
messenger,  accompanied  by  Sercombe,  in  grim  delight 
at  the  prospect  of  a  row.  Valentine  went  also,  willing 
enough  to  see  what  would  happen,  though  with  no  ill 
will  toward  the  chief.  They  were  all  furnished  as  for 
a  day's  shooting,  and  expected  to  be  joined  by  some  of 
the  keepers  on  their  way. 

The  chief,  in  view  of  possible  assault,  had  taken  care 
that  not  one  of  his  men  should  have  a  gun.  Even 
Hector  of  the  Stags  he  requested  to  leave  his  gun  at 
home. 

They  went  in  little  groups,  some  about  the  creeping 
carts,  in  which  were  the  older  women  and  younger 
children,  some  a  good  way  ahead,  some  scattered  be- 
hind, but  the  main  body  attending  the  chief,  who 
talked  to  them  as  they  went.  They  looked  a  very 
poor  company,  but  God  saw  past  their  poverty.  The 
chief  himself,  save  in  size  and  strength,  had  not  a  flour- 
ishing appearance.  He  was  very  thoughtful :  much 
lay  on  his  shoulders,  and  Ian  was  not  there  to  help ! 
His  clothes,  all  their  clothes,  were  shabby,  with  a 
crumpled,  blown-about  look,  like  drifts,  in  their  many 
faded  colors,  of  autumnal  leaves.  They  had  about  them 
all  a  forgotten  air —  looked  thin  and  wan  like  a  ghostly 
funeral  to  the  second  sight  —  as  if  they  had  walked  so 
long  they  had  forgotten  how  to  sleep,  and  the  grave 
would  not  have  them.  Except  in  their  chief  there  was 
nothing  left  of  the  martial  glance  and  gait  and  show, 
once  so  notable  in  every  gathering  of  the  Clanruadh, 
wrhen  the  men  were  all  soldiers  born,  and  the  women 
were  mothers,  daughters,  and  wives  of  soldiers.  Their 
former  stately  grace  had  vanished  from  the  women ;  they 


494  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

were  weather-worn  and  bowed  with  labor  too  heavy  for 
their  strength,  too  long  for  their  endurance,  they  were 
weak  from  lack  of  fit  human  food,  from  lack  of  hope,  and 
the  dreariness  of  the  outlook,  the  ever  gray  spiritual 
horizon;  they  were  numbed  with  the  cold  that  has 
ceased  to  be  felt,  the  deadening  sense  of  life  as  a  weight 
to  be  borne,  not  a  strength  to  rejoice  in.  But  they 
were  not  abject  yet ;  there  was  one  that  loved  them  — 
their  chief  and  their  friend.  Below  their  level  was  a 
deeper  depth,  in  which,  alas,  lie  many  of  like  heart  and 
passions  with  them,  trodden  into  the  mire  by  Dives  and 
his  stewards  ! 

The  carts  were  small,  with  puny  horses,  long-tailed 
and  droop-necked,  in  harness  of  more  rope  than  leather. 
They  had  a  look  of  old  men,  an  aspect  weirdly  venera- 
ble, as  of  life  and  labor  prolonged  after  due  time,  as  of 
creatures  leapt  from  the  grave  and  their  last  sleep  to 
work  a  little  longer.  Scrambling  up  the  steep  places 
they  were  like  that  rare  sea-bird  which  unable  to  fly  for 
shortness  of  wing,  makes  of  its  beak  a  third  leg,  to  help 
it  up  the  cliff :  these  horses  seemed  to  make  fifth  legs 
of  their  necks  and  noses.  The  chief's  horses  alone, 
always  at  the  service  of  the  clan,  looked  well  fed,  well 
kept,  and  strong,  and  the  clan  was  proud  of  them. 

"  And  what  news  is  there  from  Ian  ?  "  asked  an  old 
man  of  his  chief. 

"Not  much  news  yet,  but  I  hope  for  more  soon.  It 
will  be  so  easy  to  let  you  all  hear  his  letters,  when  we 
can  meet  any  moment  in  the  barn  !  " 

"  I  fear  he  will  be  wanting  us  all  to  go  after  the  rest ! " 
said  one  of  the  women. 

"  There  might  be  a  worse  thing !  "  answered  her 
neighbor. 

"  A  worse  thing  than  leave  the  hills  where  we  were 


THE    PEAT-MOSS.  495 


born  ? — No  I  there  is  no  worse  for  me  !  I  trust  in  God 
I  shall  be  buried  where  I  grew  up  !  " 

"  Then  you  will  leave  the  hills  sure  enough ! "  said 
the  chief. 

"  Not  so  sure,  Macruadh  !  We  shall  rest  in  our 
graves  till  the  resurrection  !  "  said  an  old  man. 

"  Only  our  bodies,"  returned  Alister. 

"  Well,  and  wKat  will  my  body  be  but  myself ! 
Much  I  would  make  of  myself  without  my  body !  I 
will  stay  with  my  body,  and  let  my  soul  step  about, 
waiting  for  me,  and  craving  a  shot  at  the  stags  with  the 
big  branches !  No,  I  won't  be  going  from  my  own 
strath !  " 

"  You  would  not  like  to  be  left  in  it  alone,  with  none 
but  unfriendly  Sasunnachs  about  you  —  not  one  of  your 
own  people  to  close  your  eyes  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  would  not  be  pleasant !  But  the  winds 
would  be  the  same ;  and  the  hills  would  be  same ;  and 
the  smell  of  the  earth  would  be  the  same ;  and  they 
would  be  our  own  worms  that  came  crawling  over  me  to 
eat  me  !  No ;  I  won't  leave  the  strath  till  I  die  —  and 
I  won't  leave  it  then !  " 

"  That  is  very  well,  John  !  "  said  the  woman  ;  "  but  if 
you  were  all  day  with  your  little  ones  —  all  of  them  all 
day  looking  hunger  in  your  face,  you  would  think  it  a 
blessed  country  where  ever  it  was  that  gave  you  bread 
to  put  in  their  mouths  !  " 

"  And  how  to  keep  calling  this  home  !  "  said  another. 
"  Why,  it  will  soon  be  everywhere  a  crime  to  set  foot 
on  a  hill,  for  frightening  of  the  deer  !  I  was  walking 
last  month  in  a  part  of  the  country  I  did  not  know, 
when  I  came  to  a  wall  that  went  out  of  my  sight,  seem- 
ing to  go  all  round  a  big  hill.  I  said  to  myself,  '  Is  no 
poor  man  to  climb  to  heaven  any  more  ?  '  And  with 


496  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

that  I  came  to  a  bill  stuck  on  a  post,  which  answered 
me;  for  it  said  thus:  'Any  well-dressed  person,  who 
will  give  his  word  not  to  leave  the  path,  may  have 
permission  to  go  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  by  apply- 
ing to  —  I  forget  the  name  of  the  doorkeeper  —  but 
sure,  h£  was  not  of  God,  seeing  his  door  was  not  to  let 
a  poor  man  in,  but  to  keep  him  out !  " 

"  They  do  well  to  starve  us  before  they  choke  us  :  we 
might  else  fight  when  it  come  to  the  air  to  breathe  !  " 
"  Have  patience,  my  sons,"  said  the  chief.     "  God 
will  not  forget  us." 

"  What  better  are  we  for  that  ?  It  would  be  all  the 
same  if  he  did  forget  us !  "  growled  a  young  fellow 
shambling  along  without  shoes. 

"  Shame  !  shame  !  "  cried  several  voices.  "  Has  not 
God.  given  us  the  Macruadh  ?  has  he  not  shared  every- 
thing with  us  ?  " 

"  The  best  coat  in  the  clan  is  on  his  own  back  !  "  mut- 
tered the  lad,  careless  whether  he  were  heard  or  not. 

"  You  scoundrel ! "  cried  another ;  "  yours  is  a  warmer 
one  !  " 

The  chief  heard  all,  and  held  his  peace.  It  was  true 
he  had  a  better  coat ! 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Donal  shoemaker,  "  if  the  chief 
give  you  the  stick,  not  one  of  us  will  say  it  was  more  than 
you  deserved  !  —  If  he  will  put  it  into  my  hands,  not  to 
defile  his  own,  I  will  take  it  with  all  my  heart.  Every- 
body knows  you  for  the  idlest  vagabond  in  the  village  ! 
Why,  the  chief  with  his  own  hands  works  ten  times  as 
much  ! " 

"  That's  how  he  takes  the  bread  out  of  my  mouth  — 
doing  his  work  himself !  "  rejoined  the  youth,  who  had 
been  to  Glasgow,  and  thought  he  had  learned  a  thing  or 
two. 


THE    PEAT-MOSS.  497 


Here  the  chief  recovered  from  his  impulse  to  pull  off 
his  coat  and  give  it  him. 

"  I  will  make  you  an  offer,  my  lad,"  he  said  instead : 
"  come  to  the  farm  and  take  my  place.  For  every  fair 
day's  work,  you  shall  have  a  fair  day's  wages,  and  for 
every  bit  of  idleness,  a  fair  threshing.  Do  you  agree  ?  " 

The  youth  pretended  to  laugh  the  thing  off,  but 
slunk  away,  and  was  seen  no  more  till  eating  time  ar- 
rived, and  "  Lady  Macruadh's  "  well-filled  baskets  were 
opened. 

"  And  who  wouldn't  see  a  better  coat  on  his  chief ! " 
cried  the  little  tailor.  "  I  would  clip  my  own  to  make 
lappets  for  his  !  " 

They  reached  the  moss.  It  lay  in  a  fold  of  the  hills, 
desert  and  dreary,  full  of  great  hollows  and  holes 
whence  the  peat  had  been  taken,  now  filled  with  water, 
black  and  terrible, —  a  land  hideous  by  day,  and  at 
night  full  of  danger  and  lonely  horror.  Here  and  there 
was  a  tuft  of  dry  grass,  a  bush  of  heather  or  a  few 
slender-stocked,  hoary  heads  of  cannach  or  cotton- 
grass  ;  it  was  a  land  of  devoted  desolation,  doing  noth- 
ing for  itself,  this  bountiful  store  of  life  and  warmth  for 
the  winter-sieged  houses  of  the  strath.  Everywhere 
there  stood  piles  of  peats  set  up  to  dry,  with  many  open- 
ings through  and  through,  windy  drains  to  gather  and 
remove  their  moisture. 

They  went  heartily  to  work.  They  cut  turf  for  their 
walls  and  peats  f or^their  fires ;  they  loaded  the  carts 
from  the  driest  piles,  and  made  new  piles  of  the  fresh 
wet  peats  they  cut.  It  was  approaching  noon  ;  and 
some  of  the  old  women  were  getting  the  food  out  of 
"  my  lady's  "  baskets,  when  over  the  nearest  ridge  be- 
yond rose  men  to  the  number  of  seven,  carrying  guns, 
Rob  of  the  Angels  was  the  first  to  spy  them.  He 


498  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

pointed  them  out  to  his  father,  and  presently  they  two 
disappeared  together.  The  rest  went  on  their  work, 
but  the  chief  could  see  that,  stooping  at  their  labor, 
they  cast  upward  and  sidelong  glances  at  them,  reading 
hostility  in  their  approach.  Suddenly,  as  by  common 
consent,  they  all  ceased  working,  stood  erect,  and  looked 
out  like  men  on  their  guard.  But  the  chief  making 
them  a  sign,  they  resumed  their  labor  as  if  they  saw 
nothing. 

Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  had  laid  it  upon  himself  to  act 
with  becoming  calmness  and  dignity.  But  it  would 
amaze  most  people  to  be  told  how  little  their  order  is 
self-restrained,  their  regular  conduct  their  own  —  how 
much  of  the  savage  and  how  little  of  the  civilized  man 
goes  to  form  their  being  —  how  much  their  decent  be- 
havior is  owing  to  the  moral  pressure,  like  that  of  the 
atmosphere,  of  the  laws  and  persons  and  habits  and 
opinions  that  surround  them.  Witness  how  many,  who 
seemed  respectable  people  at  home,  become  vulgar,  self- 
indulgent,  ruffianly,  cruel  even,  in  the  wilder  parts  of  the 
colonies  !  No  man  who  has  not,  through  restraint, 
learned  not  to  need  restraint,  but  be  as  well  behaved 
among  savages  as  in  society,  has  yet  to  become  a  true 
man.  No  perfection  of  mere  civilization  kills  the  sav- 
age in  a  man ;  the  savage  is  there  all  the  time  till  the 
man  pass  through  the  birth  from  above.  Till  then,  he 
is  no  certain  hiding-place  from  the  wind,  no  sure  covert 
from  the  tempest. 

Mr.  Palmer  was  in  the  worst  of  positions  as  to  pro- 
tection against  himself.  Possessed  of  large  property, 
he  owed  his  position  to  evil  and  not  to  good.  ~Not  only 
had  he  done  nothing  to  raise  those  through  whom  he 
made  his  money,  but  the  very  making  of  their  money, 
was  his  plunging  them  deeper  and  deeper  in  poverty 


THE    PEAT-MOSS.  499 


and  vice  :  his  success  was  the  ruin  of  many.  Yet  was 
he  full  of  his  own  imagined  importance  —  or  had  been 
full  until  now  that  he  felt  a  worm  at  the  root  of  his 
gourd  —  the  contempt  of  one  man  for  his  wealth  and 
position.  Well  might  such  a  man  hate  such  another 
—  and  the  more  that  iais  daughter  loved  him !  Then  the 
chief's  schemes  and  ways  were  founded  on  such  opposite 
principles  to  his  own  that  of  necessity  they  annoyed 
him  at  every  point,  and,  incapable  of  perceiving  their 
true  nature,  he  imagined  that  annoyance  their  origin 
and  end.  And  now  here  was  his  enemy  insolently  dar- 
ing, as  Mr.  Palmer  fully  believed,  to  trespass  in  person 
on  his  Jand ! 

Add  to  all  this,  that  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  was  here 
in  a  place  whose  remoteness  heightened  the  pressure  of 
conventional  restraint,  while  its  wildness  tended  to 
rouse  all  the  old  savage  in  him  —  its  very  look  suggest- 
ing to  the  city-man  its  fitness  for  an  unlawful  deed  for 
a  lawful  end.  Persons  more  respectable  than  Mr.  Palmer 
are  capable  of  doing  the  most  wicked  and  lawless  things, 
when  their  selfish  sense  of  their  own  right  is  upper- 
most. Witness  the  occasionally  iniquitous  judgments 
of  country  magistrates  in  their  own  interests  —  how 
they  drive  law  even  to  cruelty ! 

"  Are  you  not  aware  you  are  trespassing  on  my  land, 
Macruadh  ?  "  cried  the  new  laird,  across  several  holes 
full  of  black  water  which  obstructed  his  nearer  approach. 

"On  the  contrary,  Mr.  Palmer,"  replied  the  chief, 
" I  am  perfectly  aware  that  I  am  not!" 

"  You  have  no  right  to  cut  peats  there  without  my 
permission !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon :  you  have  no  right  to  stand 
where  you  speak  the  words  without  my  permission. 
But  you  are  quite  welcome,  all  the  same." 


500  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  I  am  satisfied  there  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  what 
you  say,"  rejoined  Mr.  Palmer.  "  I  desire  you  to  order 
your  people  away  at  once." 

"That  I  cannot  do.  It  would  be  to  require  their 
consent  to  die  of  cold." 

"  Let  them  die !  What  are  they  to  us  —  or  to  any- 
body! Order  them  off,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for 
them  —  and  for  you  too  !  " 

"  Excuse  me ;  I  cannot." 

"  I  give  you  one  more  warning.  Go  yourself,  and  they 
will  follow." 

« I  will  not." 

"  Go,  or  I  will  compel  you." 

As  he  spoke,  he  half  raised  his  gun. 

"  You  dare  not ! "  said  the  chief,  drawing  himself  up 
indignantly. 

Together  Mr.  Palmer  and  Mr.  Sercombe  raised  their 
guns  to  their  shoulders,  and  one  of  them  fired.  To 
give  Mr.  Palmer  the  benefit  of  a  doubt,  he  was  not 
quite  at  home  with  his  gun,  and  would  use  a  hair-trig- 
ger. The  same  instant  each  found  himself,  with  breath 
and  consciousness  equally  scant,  floundering,  gun  and 
all,  in  the  black  bog  water  on  whose  edge  he  had  stood. 
There  now  stood  Rob  of  the  Angels,  gazing  after 
them  into  the  depth  with  the  look  of  an  avenging 
angel. 

His  father  stood  beside  him,  grim  as  a  gratified  Fate. 
Such  a  roar  of  raore  rose  from  the  clansmen  with  the 

o 

shot,  and  so  many  come  bounding  with  sticks  and 
spades  over  the  rough  ground,  that  the  keepers,  know- 
ing, if  each  killed  his  two  men,  they  would  not  after 
escape  with  their  lives,  judged  it  more  prudent  to  wait 
orders.  Only  Valentine  came  running  in  terror  to  the 
help  of  his  father. 


THE    PEAT-MOSS.  501 


"  Don't  be  frightened,"  said  Rob ;  "  we  only  wanted 
to  wet  their  powder !  " 

"  But  they'll  be  drowned ! "  cried  the  lad,  almost 
weeping. 

"  Not  a  hair  of  them  ! "  answered  Rob.  "  We'll  have 
them  out  in  a  moment !  But  please  tell  your  men,  if 
they  dare  to  lift  a  gun,  we'll  serve  them  the  same.  It 
wets  the  horn,  and  it  cools  the  man !  " 

A  minute  more,  and  the  two  men  lay  coughing  and 
gasping  on  the  crumbly  bank,  for  in  their  utter  sur- 
prisal  they  had  let  more  of  the  nasty  soft  water  inside 
than  was  good  for  them.  With  his  first  breath  Ser- 
combe  began  to  swear. 

"  Drop  that,  sir,  if  you  please,"  said  Rob,  "  or  in  you 
go  again !  " 

He  began  to  reply  with  a  volley  of  oaths,  but  began 
only,  for  the  same  instant  the  black  water  was  again 
choking  him.  Might  Hector  of  the  Stags  have  had  his 
way,  he  would  have  kept  there  the  murderer  of  an 
cabrach  mor  till  he  had  to  be  dived  for.  Rob  was  de- 
termined he  should  not  come  out  until  he  gave  his  word 
that  he  would  not  swear. 

"  Come !  come  !  "  gasped  Sercombe  at  length,  after 
many  attempts  to  get  out  which  the  bystanders  easily 
foiled  —  "  you  don't  mean  to  drown  me,  do  you  ?  " 

"  We  mean  to  drown  your  bad  language.  Promise 
to  use  no  more  on  this  peat-moss,"  returned  Rob. 

"  Damn  the  promise  you  get  from  me  !  "  he  gasped. 

"  Men  must  have  patience  with  a  suffering  brother ! " 
remarked  Rob,  and,  saying  a  few  words  in  Gaelic  which 
drew  a  hearty  laugh  from  the  men  about  him,  seated 
himself  on  a  heap  of  turf  to  watch  the  unyielding 
flounder  in  the  peat-hole,  where  there  was  no  room  to 
swim.  He  had  begun  to  fear  the  man  would  drown  in 


502  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

his  contumacy,  when  his  ears  welcomed  the  despairing 
words  — 

"  Take  me  out,  and  I  will  promise  anything." 

He  was  scarcely  able  to  move  till  one  of  the  keepers 
gave  him  whiskey,  but  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  crawl- 
ing homeward  after  his  host,  who,  fruitful  parent  of 
little  streams,  was  doing  his  best  to  walk  over  rocks  and 
through  bogs  with  the  help  of  Valentine's  arm,  chatter- 
ing rather  than  muttering  something  about  "proper 
legal  fashion." 

In  the  meantime  the  chief  lay  shot  in  the  right  arm 
and  chest,  but  not  dangerously  wounded  by  the  scatter- 
ing lead. 

He  had  lost  a  good  deal  of  blood,  and  was  faint  —  a 
sensation  new  to  him.  The  women  had  done  what  they 
could,  but  that  was  only  binding  his  arm,  laying  him 
in  a  dry  place,  and  giving  him  water.  He  would  not 
let  them  recall  the  men  till  the  enemy  was  gone. 

When  they  knew  what  had  happened  they  were  in 
sad  trouble  —  Rob  of  the  Angels  especially.  The  chief 
would  have  him  get  the  shot  out  of  his  arm  with  his 
knife ;  but  Rob,  instead,  started  off  at  full  speed,  run- 
ning as  no  man  else  in  the  county  could  run,  to  fetch 
the  doctor  to  the  castle. 

At  the  chief's  desire,  they  made  a  hurried  meal,  and 
then  resumed  the  loading  of  the  carts,  preparing  one  of 
them  for  his  transport.  When  it  was  half  full,  they 
covered  the  peats  with  a  layer  of  dry  elastic  turf,  then 
made  on  that  a  bed  of  heather,  tops  uppermost ;  and 
more  to  please  them  than  that  he  could  not  walk,  Alis- 
ter  consented  to  be  laid  on  this  luxurious  invalid-car- 
riage, and  borne  home  over  the  rough  roads  like  a  dis- 
abled warrior. 

They  arrived  some  time  before  the  doctor. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

A   BAKING   VISIT. 

MERCY  soon  learned  that  some  sort  of  encounter 
had  taken  place  between  her  father's  shooting 
party  and  some  of  the  clan ;  also  that  the  chief  was 
hurt,  but  not  in  what  manner  —  for  by  silent  agree- 
ment that  was  not  mentioned  :  it  might  seem  to  put 
them  in  the  wrong !  She  had,  however,  heard  enough 
to  fill  her  with  anxiety.  Her  window  commanded  the 
ridge  by  the  castle,  and  she  seated  herself  with  her 
opera-glass  to  watch  that  point.  When  the  hill-party 
came  from  behind  the  ruin,  she  missed  his  tall  figure 
amongst  his  people,  but  presently  discovered  him  lying 
very  white  on  one  of  the  carts.  Her  heart  became  as 
water  within  her.  But  instant  contriving  how  she 
could  reach  him,  kept  her  up. 

By  and  by  Christina  came  to  tell  her  she  had  just 
heard  from  one  of  the  servants  that  the  Macruadh  w^as 
shot.  Mercy  having  seen  him  alive,  heard  the  frightful 
news  with  tolerable  calmness.  Christina  said  she 
would  do  her  best  to  discover  before  the  morning  how 

o 

much  he  was  hurt ;  no  one  in  the  house  seemed  able  to 
tell  her !  Mercy,  to  avoid  implicating  her  sister,  held 
her  peace  as  to  her  own  intention. 

As  soon  as  it  was  dark  she  prepared  to  steal  from  the 
house,  dreading  nothing  but  prevention.  When  her 
dinner  was  brought  her,  and  she  knew  they  were  all 
safe  in  the  dining-room,  she  drew  her  plaid  over  her 

503 


504  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

head,  and  leaving  her  food  untasted,  stole  half  down 
the  stair,  whence  watching  her  opportunity  between 
the  comings  and  goings  of  the  waiting  servants,  she 
presently  got  away  unseen,  crept  softly  past  the 
windows,  and  when  out  of  the  shrubbery,  darted  off  at 
her  full  speed.  Her  breath  was  all  but  gone  when  she 
knocked  panting  at  the  drawing-room  door. 

It  opened,  and  there  stood  the  mother  of  her  chief ! 
But  the  moment  Mrs.  Macruadh  saw  her,  leaving  her 
no  time  to  say  a  word,  she  bore  down  upon  her  like 
one  vessel  that  would  sink  another,  pushing,  her  from 
the  door,  and  pulling  it  to  behind  her,  stern  as  righteous 
Fate.  Mercy  was  not  going  to  be  put  down,  howrever  : 
she  was  doing  nothing  wrong  ! 

"  How  is  the  Macruadh,  please  ? "  she  managed  to 
say. 

"  Alive,  but  terribly  hurt,"  answered  his  mother,  and 
would  have  borne  her  out  of  the  open  door  of  the  cot- 
tage, towards  the  latch  of  which  she  reached  her  hand 
while  yet  a  yard  from  it.  Her  action  said,  "  why  will 
Nancy  leave  the  door  open  !  " 

"  Please,  please,  what  is  it  ?  "  panted  Mercy,  standing 
her  ground.  "  How  is  he  hurt  ?  " 

She  turned  upon  her  almost  fiercely. 

"  This  is  what  you  have  done  for  him ! "  she  said, 
with  right  ungenerous  reproach.  "  Your  father  fired  at 
him,  on  my  son's  own  land,  and  shot  him  in  the  chest." 

"  Is  he  in  danger  ?  "  gasped  Mercy,  leaning  against 
the  wall,  trembling  so  she  could  scarcely  then  stand. 

"  I  fear  he  is  in  great  danger.  If  only  the  doctor 
would  come ! " 

"You  wouldn't  mind  my  sitting  in  the  kitchen  till 
he  comes  ?  "  whispered  Mercy,  her  voice  all  but  gone. 

"I  could  not  allow  it.     I  will  not  connive  at  your 


A   DAEIXG   VISIT.  505 


coming  here  without  the  knowledge  of  your  parents ! 
It  is  not  at  all  a  proper  thing  for  a  young  lady  to  do  !  " 

"  Then  I  will  wait  outside  !  "  said  Mercy,  her  quick 
temper  waking  in  spite  of  her  anxiety  :  she  had  antici- 
pated coldness,  but  not  treatment  like  this  !  "  There 
is  one,  I  think,  Mrs.  Macruadh,"  she  added,  "  who  will 
not  find  fault  with  me  for  it !  " 

"At  least  he  will  not  tell  you  so  for  some  time ! " 

The  door  opened  behind  her;   she  had  left  a  chink. 

"  She  does  not  mean  me,  mother,"  said  Alister ; 
"  she  means  Jesus  Christ.  He  would  say  to  you,  Let 
her  alone.  He  does  not  care  for  Society.  Its  ways 
are  not  his  ways,  nor  its  laws  his  laws. —  Come  in, 
Mercy.  I  am  sorry  my  mother's  trouble  about  me 
should  have  made  her  unhospitable  to  you  !  " 

"  I  cannot  come  in,  Alister,  if  she  will  not  let  me  !  " 
answered  Mercy. 

"  Pray  walk  in !  I  can  sit  in  the  kitchen  till  you  are 
gone!"  said  Mrs.  Macruadh. 

She  would  have  passed  Mercy,  but  the  trance  was 
narrow,  and  Mercy  did  not  move  to  make  room  for 
her. 

"  You  see,  Alister,  I  cannot !  "  insisted  Mercy.  "  That 
would  not  please,  would  it  ? "  she  added  reverently. 
"  Tell  me  how  you  are,  and  I  will  go,  and  come  again 
to-morrow." 

Alister  told  her  what  had  befallen,  making  little  of 
the  affair,  and  saying  he  suspected  it  was  an  accident. 

"  Oh,  thank  you ! "  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  I  meant  to  sit  by  the  castle  wall  till  the  doctor  came ; 
but  now  I  shall  get  back  before  they  discover  I  am 
gone." 

Without  a  word  more,  she  turned  and  ran  from  the 
house,  and  reached  her  room  unmissed  and  unseen. 


506  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

The  next  was  a  dreary  hour  the  most  painful  that 
mother  and  son  had  ever  passed  together.  The  mother 
was  all  the  time  buttressing  her  pride  with  her  grief, 
and  the  son  was  cut  to  the  heart  that  he  should  have 
had  to  take  part  against  his  mother.  But  when  the 
doctor  came  at  length,  and  she  saw  him  take  out  his 
instruments,  the  pride  that  parted  her  from  her  boy 
melted  away. 

"  Forgive  me,  Alister ! "  she  whispered ;  and  his  happy 
kiss  comforted  her  repentant  soul. 

When  the  small  operations  were  over,  and  Alister 
was  in  bed,  she  would  have  gone  to  let  Mercy  know 
all  she  could  tell  her.  But  she  must  not :  it  would 
work  mischief  in  the  house  !  She  sat  down  by  Alister's 
bedside,  and  watched  him  all  night. 

He  slept  well,  being  in  such  a  healthful  condition  of 
body  that  his  loss  of  blood,  arid  the  presence  of  the  few 
shot  that  could  not  be  found,  did  him  little  harm.  He 
yielded  to  his  mother's  entreaties  to  spend  the  morning 
in  bed,  but  was  up  long  before  the  evening  in  the  hope 
of  Mercy's  coming  confident  that  his  mother  would  now 
be  like  herself  to  her.  She  came  ;  the  mother  took  her 
in  her  arms,  and  begged  her  forgiveness  ;  nor,  having 
thus  embraced  her,  could  she  any  more  treat  her  rela- 
tion to  her  son  with  coldness.  If  the  girl  was  ready, 
as  her  conduct  showed,  to  leave  all  for  Alister,  she  had 
saved  her  soul  alive,  she  was  no  more  one  of  the  enemy ! 

Thus  was  the  mother  repaid  for  her  righteous  educa- 
tion of  her  son :  through  him  her  pride  received  almost 
a  mortal  blow,  her  justice  grew  more  discriminating, 
and  her  righteousness  more  generous. 

In  a  few  days  the  chief  was  out,  and  looking  quite 
himself. 


CHAPTER  L. 

THE    FLITTING. 

THE  time  was  drawing  nigh  when  the  warning  of 
ejection  would  doubtless  begin  to  be  put  in  force ; 
and  the  chief  hearing,  through  Rob  of  the  Angels,  that 
attempts  were  making  to  stir  the  people  up,  took  meas- 
ures to  render  them  futile  :  they  must  be  a  trick  of  the 
enemy  to  get  them  into  trouble  !  Taking  counsel  there- 
fore with  the  best  of  the  villagers,  both  women  and 
men,  he  was  confirmed  in  the  idea  that  they  had  better 
all  remove  together,  before  the  limit  of  the  earliest  notice 
was  expired.  But  his  councillors  all  agreed  with  him 
that  the  people  should  only  be  told  to  get  themselves 
in  readiness  to  move  at  a  moment's  notice.  In  the 
meantime  he  pushed  on  their  labor  at  the  new  village. 

In  the  afternoon  preceding  the  day  on  which  certain 
of  the  clan  were  to  be  cast  out  of  their  homes,  the  chief 
went  to  the  village,  and  going  from  house  to  house,  told 
his  people  to  have  everything  in  order  for  flitting  that 
very  night,  so  that  in  the  morning  there  should  not  be 
an  old  shoe  left ;  and  to  be  careful  that  no  rumor  of 
their  purpose  got  abroad.  They  would  thus  have  a 
good  laugh  at  the  enemy,  who  was  reported  to  have 
applied  for  military  assistance  as  a  precautionary  meas- 
ure. His  horses  should  be  ready,  and  as  soon  as  it  was 
dark  they  would  begin  to  cart  and  carry,  and  be  snug 
in  their  new  houses  before  the  morning ! 

All  agreed,  and  a  tumult  of  preparation  began. 
507 


508  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

"  Lady  Macruadh  "  came  with  help  and  counsel,  and 
took  the  children  in  charge  while  the  mothers  bustled. 
It  was  amazing  how  much  had  to  be  done  to  remove  so 
small  an  amount  of  property.  The  chiefs  three  carts 
were  first  laden  ;  then  the  men  and  women  loaded  each 
other.  The  chief  took  on  his  back  the  biggest  load  of 
all,  except  indeed  it  were  Hector's.  To  and  fro  went 
the  carts,  and  to  and  fro  went  the  men  and  women,  I 
know  not  how  many  journeys,  upheld  by  companionship, 
merriment,  hope,  and  the  clan-mother's  plentiful  pro- 
vision of  tea,  coffee,  milk,  bread  and  butter,  cold  mut- 
ton and  ham  —  luxurious  fare  to  alL  As  the  sun  was 
rising,  they  closed  every  door,  and  walked  for  the  last 
time,  laden  with  the  last  of  their  goods,  out  of  the 
place  of  their  oppression,  leaving  behind  them  not  a 
cock  to  crow,  a  peat  to  burn,  or  a  scrap  that  was  worth 
stealing — all  removed  in  such  order  and  silence  that  not 
one,  even  at  the  New  House,  had  a  suspicion  of  what 
was  going  on.  Mercy,  indeed,  as  she  sat  looking  from 
her  window  like  Daniel  praying  toward  Jerusalem,  her 
constant  custom  now,  even  when  there  was  no  moon  to 
show  what  lay  before  her,  did  think  she  hea-rd  strange 
sounds  come  faintly  through  the  night  from  the  shadowy 
valley  below  —  even  thought  she  caught  glimpses  of  a 
shapeless  gnome-like  train  moving  along  the  road ;  but 
she  only  wondered  if  the  Highlands  had  suddenly  gifted 
her  with  the  second  sight,  and  these  were  the  brain- 
phantasms  of  coming  events.  She  listened  and  gazed, 
but  could  not  be  sure  that  she  heard  or  saw. 

When  she  looked  out  in  the  morning,  however,  she 
understood,  for  the  castle-ridge  was  almost  hidden  in 
the  smoke  that  poured  from  every  chimney  of  the  new 
village.  Her  heart  swelled  with  joy  to  think  of  her 
chief  with  all  his  people  under  his  eyes,  and  within 


THE    FLITTIXG.  509 


reach  of  his  voice.  From  her  window  they  seemed  so 
many  friends  gathered  to  comfort  her  solitude,  or  the 
camp  of  an  army  come  to  set  her  free. 

Hector  and  Rob,  with  one  or  two  more  of  the  clan, 
hid  themselves  to  watch  those  who  came  to  evict  the 
first  of  the  villagers.  There  were  no  military.  Two 
sheriffs-officers,  a  good  many  constables,  and  a  few 
vagabonds,  made  up  the  party.  Rob's  keen  eye  en- 
abled him  to  distinguish  the  very  moment  when  first 
they  began  to  be  aware  of  something  unusual  about  the 
place  ;  he  saw  them  presently  halt  and  look  at  each 
other  as  if  the  duty  before  them  were  not  altogether 
canny.  At  no  time  would  there  be  many  signs  of  life 
in  the  poor  hamlet,  but  there  would  always  be  some 
sounds  of  handicraft,  some  shuttle  or  hammer  going, 
some  cries  of  children  weeping  or  at  play,  some  noises 
of  animals,  some  ascending  smoke,  some  issuing  or  en- 
tering shape  !  They  feared  an  ambush,  a  sudden  on- 
slaught. Warily  they  stept  into  the  place,  sharply  and 
warily  they  looked  about  them  in  the  street,  slowly  and 
with  circumspection  they  opened  door  after  door, 
afraid  of  what  might  be  lurking  behind  to  pounce  upon 
them  unawares.  Only  after  searching  every  house,  and 
discovering  not  the  smallest  sign  of  the  presence  of  liv- 
ing creature,  did  they  recognize  their  fooPs-errand. 
And  all  the  time  there  was  the  new  village,  smoking, 
hard,  under  the  very  windows,  as 'he  chose  himself  to 
say,  of  its  chief  adversary  ! 


CHAPTER  LL 

THE    NEW    VILLAGE. 

THE  winter  came  down  upon  them  early,  and  the 
chief  and  his  mother  had  a  sore  time  of  it. 
Well  as  they  had  known  it  before,  the  poverty  of  their 
people  was  far  better  understood  by  them  now.  Un- 
able to  endure  the  sight  of  it,  and  spending  more  and 
more  to  meet  it,  they  saw  it  impossible  for  them  to  hold 
out.  For  a  long  time  their  succor  had  been  more  and 
more  exhausting  the  poor  resources  of  the  chief  ;  he  had 
borne  up  in  the  hope  of  the  money  he  was  so  soon  to  re- 
ceive ;  and  now  there  was  none,  and  the  need  greater 
than  ever !  He  was  not  troubled,  for  his  faith  was 
simple  and  strong ;  but  his  faith  made  him  the  more 
desirous  of  doing  his  part  for  the  coming  deliverance  : 
faith  in  God  compels  and  enables  a  man  to  be  a  fellow- 
worker  with  God.  He  was  now  waiting  the  judgment 
of  Ian  concerning  the  prospects  of  the  settlers  in  that 
part  of  Canada  to  which  he  had  gone,  hoping  it  might 
help  him  to  some  resolve  in  view  of  the  worse  diffi- 
culties at  hand. 

In  the  meantime  the  clan  was  more  comfortable,  and 
passed  the  winter  more  happily  than  for  many  years. 
First  of  all,  they  had  access  to  the  chief  at  any  moment. 
Then  he  had  arranged  a  room  in  his  own  house  where 
were  always  fire  and  light  for  such  as  would  read  what 
books  he  was  able  to  lend  them,  or  play  at  quiet  games. 
To  them  its  humble  arrangements  were  sumptuous. 
510 


THE    NEW    VILLAGE.  511 

And  best  of  all,  be  would,  in  the  long  dark  fore-nights, 
as  the  lowland  Scotch  call  them,  read  aloud,  at  one  time 
in  Gaelic,  at  another  in  English,  things  that  gave  them 
great  delight.  Donal  shoemaker  was  filled  with  joy 
unutterable  by  the  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner.  If 
only  this  state  of  things  could  be  kept  up  —  with  Ian 
back  and  Mercy  married  to  the  chief !  thought  the 
mother.  But  it  was  not  to  be  ;  that  grew  plainer  every 
day. 

Mr.  Palmer  would  gladly  have  spent  his  winter  else- 
where, leaving  his  family  behind  him ;  but  as  things 
were,  he  could  not  leave  them,  and  as  certain  other 
things  were,  he  did  not  care  to  take  them  to  London. 
Besides,  for  them  all  to  leave  now,  would  be  to  confess 
defeat ;  and  who  could  tell  what  hurt  to  his  forest 
might  not  follow  in  his  absence  from  the  cowardly 
hatred  of  the  peasants !  He  was  resolved  to  see  the 
thing  out.  But  above  all,  he  must  keep  that  worthless 
girl,  Mercy,  under  his  own  eye  ! 

"  That's  what  comes  of  not  drinking  !  "  he  would  say 
to  himself ;  "  a  man  grows  as  proud  as  Satan,  and 
makes  himself  a  curse  to  his  neighbors ! " 

Then  he  would  sigh  like  a  man  ill  used  and  disconso- 
late. 

Both  Mercy  and  the  chief  thought  it  better  not  to 
venture  much,  but  they  did  occasionally  contrive  to 
meet  for  a  few  minutes  —  generally  by  the  help  of 
Christina.  Twice  only  was  Mercy's  handkerchief  hung 
from  the  window,  when  her  longing  for  his  voice  had 
grown  almost  too  strong  for  her  to  bear.  The  signal 
brought  him  both  times  through  the  wild  wintry  storm, 
joyous  as  a  bird  through  the  summer  air.  Once  or 
twice  they  met  just  outside  the  gate,  Mercy  flying  like 
a  snow-bird  to  the  tryst,  and  as  swiftly  back  through 


512  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

the  keen  blue  frost,  when  her  breath  as  she  ran  seemed 
to  linger  in  th^air  like  smoke,  and  threaten  to  betray 
her. 

At  length  came  the  much  desired  letter  from  Ian,  full 
of  matter  for  the  enabling  of  the  chief's  decision. 

Two  things  had  long  been  clear  to  Alister  —  that, 
even  if  the  ground  he  had  could  keep  his  people  alive, 
it  certainly  could  not  keep  them  all  employed  ;  and 
that,  if  they  went  elsewhere,  especially  to  any  town,  it 
might  induce  for  many,  and  ensure  for  their  children 
a  lamentable  descent  in  the  moral  scale.  He  was  their 
shepherd,  and  must  lose  none  of  them !  therefore,  first 
of  all,  he  must  not  lose  sight  of  them !  It  was  now 
clear  also,  that  the  best  and  most  desirable  thing  was, 
that  the  poor  remnant  of  the  clan  should  leave  their 
native  country,  and  betake  themselves  where  not  a  few 
of  their  own  people,  among  them  Lachlan  and  Annie, 
would  welcome  them  to  probable  ease  and  comfort. 
There  he  would  buy  land,  settle  and  build  with  them 
a  village.  Some  would  cultivate  the  soil  under  their 
chief ;  others  would  pursue  their  trades  for  the  good 
of  the  community  and  themselves  ! 

And  now  once  more  came  the  love  of  land  face  to 
face  with  the  love  of  men,  and  in  the  chief's  heart  paled 
before  it.  For  there  was  but  one  way  to  get  the  need- 
f  ul  money :  the  last  of  the  Macruadh  property  must  go ! 
Not  for  one  moment  did  it  rouse  a  grudging  thought 
in  the  chief:  it  was  for  the  sake  of  the  men  and  women 
and  children  whose  lives  would  be  required  of  him ! 
The  land  itself  must  yield  them  wings  to  forsake  it 
withal,  and  fly  beyond  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  LIL 

A   FKIENDLY    OFFER. 

IT  was  agreed  between  mother  and  son  to  submit  the 
matter  to  Ian,  and  if  he  should  be  of  the  same 
mind,  at  once  to  negotiate  for  the  sale  of  the  land,  in 
order  to  carry  the  clan  to  Canada.  They  wrote  there- 
fore to  Ian,  and  composed  themselves  to  await  his 
answer. 

It  was  a  sorrowful  thing  to  Alister  to  seem  for  a 
moment  to  follow  the  example  of  the  recreant  chief, 
whose  defection  to  feudalism  was  the  prelude  to  their 
treachery  towards  their  people,  and  whose  faithlessness 
has  ruined  the  highlands.  But  unlike  Glengarry  or 
"  Esau  "  Reay,  he  desired  to  sell  his  land  that  he  might 
keep  his  people,  care  for  them,  and  share  with  them  : 
his  people  safe,  what  mattered  the  acres ! 

Reflecting  on  the  thing,  he  saw,  in  the  case  of  lan's 
approval  of  the  sale,  no  reason  why  he  should  not  show 
friendliness  where  none  was  expected,  and  give  Mr. 
Peregrine  Palmer  the  first  chance  of  purchase.  He 
thought,  also,  with  his  usual  hopefulness,  that  the  time 
might  come  when  the  clan,  laying  its  savings  together, 
would  be  able  to  redeem  their  ancient  homesteads,  and 
then  it  might  be  an  advantage  that  it  was  all  in  the 
possession  of  one  man.  Such  things  had  been,  and 
might  be  again !  The  Lord  could  bring  again  the  cap- 
tivity of  Clanruadh  as  well  as  that  of  Israel ! 

Two  months  passed,  and  they  had  lan's  answer — when 
513 


514  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

it  was  well  on  into  the  spring,  and  weather  good  for  a 
sea-voyage  was  upon  its  way.  Because  of  the  loss  of 
their  uncle's  money,  and  the  good  prospect  of  comfort 
in  return  for  labor,  hard  but  not  killing,  Ian  entirely 
approved  of  the  proposal.  From  that  moment  the 
thing  was  no  longer  discussed,  but  how  best  to  carry  it 
out.  The  chief  assembled  the  clan  in  the  barn,  read 
his  brother's  letter,  and  in  a  simple  speech  acquainted 
them  with  the  situation.  He  told  them  of  the  loss  of 
the  money  to  which  he  had  looked  for  the  power  to  aid 
them ;  reminded  them  that  there  was  neither  employ- 
ment nor  subsistence  enough  on  the  land  not  even  if  his 
mother  and  he  were  to  live  like  the  rest  of  them,  which 
if  necessary  they  were  quite  prepared  to  do  ;  and  stated 
his  resolve  to  part  with  the  remnant  of  the  land  in  order 
to  provide  the  means  of  their  migrating  in  a  body  to 
Canada,  where  not  a  few  old  friends  were  eager  to  wel- 
come them.  There  they  would  buy  land,  he  said,  of 
which  every  man  that  would  cultivate  it  should  have  a 
portion,  enough  to  live  upon,  while  those  with  trades 
should  have  every  facility  for  following  them.  All,  he  be- 
lieved, would  fare  well  in  return  for  hard  work,  and 
they  would  be  in  the  power  of  no  man.  There  was 
even  a  possibility,  he  hoped,  that,  if  they  lived  and 
labored  well,  they  might  one  day  buy  back  the  home 
they  had  left;  or  if  not,  they,  their  sons  and  daughters, 
might  return  from  their  captivity,  and  restore  the  house 
of  their  fathers.  If  anyone  would  not  go,  he  would  do 
for  him  what  seemed  fair. 

Donal  shoemaker  rose,  unpuckered  his  face,  slackened 
the  purse-strings  of  his  mouth,  and  said, 

"  Where  my  chief  goes,  I  will  go  ;  where  my  chief 
lives,  I  will  live ;  and  where  my  chief  is  buried,  God 
grant  I  may  be  buried  also,  with  all  my  family ! " 


A   FRIENDLY    OFFER.  515 

He  sat  down,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and 
wept  and  sobbed. 

One  voice  rose  from  all  present : 

"  We'll  go,  Macruadh !  we'll  go !  Our  chief  is  our 
home !  " 

The  chief's  heart  swelled  with  mingled  gladness  and 
grief,  but  he  answered  quietly, 

"  Then  you  must  at  once  begin  your  preparations  ; 
we  ought  not  to  be  in  a  hurry  at  the  last." 

An  immediate  stir,  movement,  bustle,  followed. 
There  was  much  talking,  and  many  sunny  faces  over 
which  kept  sweeping  the  clouds  of  sorrow. 

The  next  morning  the  chief  went  to  the  New  House, 
and  desired  to  see  Mr.  Palmer.  He  was  shown  into 
what  the  new  laird  called  his  study.  Mr.  Palmer's 
first  thought  was  that  he  had  come  to  call  him  to  ac- 
count for  firing  at  him.  He  neither  spoke  nor  advanced 
a  step  to  meet  him.  The  ^hief  stood  still  some  yards 
from  him,  and  said  as  pleasantly  as  he  could,  — 

"  You  are  surprised  to  see  me,  Mr.  Palmer ! " 

« I  am." 

"  I  come  to  ask  if  you  would  like  to  buy  my  land  ?  " 

"  Already ! "  said  Mr.  Palmer,  cast  on  his  enemy  a 
glare  of  victory,  and  stood  regarding  him.  The  chief 
did  not  reply. 

"  Well !  "  said  Mr.  Palmer. 

"  I  wait  your  answer,"  returned  the  chief. 

"  Did  it  never  strike  you  that  insolence  might  be  car- 
ried too  far?" 

"  I  come  for  your  sake  more  than  my  own,"  rejoined 
the  chief,  without  even  a  shadow  of  anger.  "  I  have 
no  particular  desire  you  should  take  the  land,  but 
thought  it  reasonable  you  should  have  the  first  offer." 

"  What  a  dull  ox  the   fellow  must  take  me  for ! " 


516  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

remarked  the  new  laird  to  himself.  "  It's  all  a  dodge 
to  get  into  the  house !  As  if  he  would  sell  me  his  land ! 
or  could  think  I  would  hold  any  communication  with 
him !  Buy  his  land !  It's  some  trick,  I'll  lay  my  soul ! 
The  infernal  scoundrel !  Such  a  mean-spirited  wretch 
too !  Takes  an  ounce  of  shot  in  the  stomach,  and  never 
says  '  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  it ! '  I  don't 
believe  the  savage  ever  felt  it ! ' 

Something  like  this  passed  with  thought's  own  swift- 
ness through  the  mind  of  Mr.  Palmer,  as  he  stood  look- 
ing the  chief  from  head  to  foot,  yet  in  his  inmost  per- 
son feeling  small  before  him. 

"  If  you  cannot  at  once  make  up  your  mind,"  said 
Alister,  "  I  will  give  you  till  to-morrow  to  think  it  over. 
I  cannot  afford  you  longer  than  that." 

"  When  you  have  learned  to  behave  like  a  gentleman," 
answered  the  new  laird,  "  let  me  know,  and  I  will  refer 
you  to  my  factor." 

He  turned  and  rang  the  bell.  Alister  bowed,  and 
did  not  wait  for  the  servant. 

It  must  be  said  for  him,  however,  that  that  morning 
Christina  had  positively  refused  to  listen  to  a  word 
more  from  Mr.  Sercombe. 

In  the  afternoon,  Alister  set  out  for  London. 


CHAPTER  LIIL 

ANOTHER   EXPULSION. 

MR.  PEREGRINE  PALMER  brooded  more  and 
more  upon  what  he  counted  the  contempt  of 
the  chief.  It  became  in  him  almost  a  fixed  idea.  It 
had  already  sent  out  several  suckers,  and  had,  amongst 
others,  developed  the  notion  that  he  was  despised  by 
those  from  whom  first  of  all  he  looked  for  the  appreci- 
ation after  which  his  soul  thirsted  —  his  own  family. 
He  grew  therefore  yet  more  moody,  and  his  moodiness 
and  distrust  developed  suspicion.  It  is  scarce  credible 
what  a  crushing  influence  the  judgment  he  pretended 
to  scorn,  thus  exercised  upon  him.  It  was  not  that  he 
acknowledged  in  it  the  smallest  justice  ;  neither  was  it 
that  he  cared  altogether  for  what  such  a  fanatical  fool 
as  the  chief  might  think ;  but  he  reflected  that  if  one 
could  so  despise  his  money  because  of  its  source,  there 
might  be  others,  might  be  many  who  did  so.  At  the 
same  time,  had  he  been  sure  of  the  approbation  of  all 
the  world  beside,  it  would  have  troubled  him  not  a  lit- 
tle, in  his  thirst  after  recognition,  that  any  gentleman, 
one  of  family  especially,  however  old-fashioned  and  ab- 
surd he  might  be,  should  look  down  upon  him.  His 
smouldering  causelessly  excited  anger,  his  evident 
struggle  to  throw  off  an  oppression,  and  fierce  resent- 
ment of  the  chiefs  judgment,  which  he  would  now  and 
then  betray,  revealed  how  closely  the  offence  clung  to 
his  consciousness. 

517 


518  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

Flattering  himself  from  her  calmness  that  Mercy  had 
got  over  her  foolish  liking  for  the  "  boor,"  as  he  would 
not  unfrequently  style  the  chief,  he  had  listened  to  the 
prayers  of  her  mother,  and  submitted  to  her  company 
at  the  dinner-table,  but  he  continued  to  treat  her  as  one 
who  had  committed  a  shameful  fault. 

That  evening,  the  great  little  man  could  hardly  eat 
his  dinner  for  wrathful  memories  of  the  interview  of 
the  morning.  Perhaps  his  most  painful  reflection  was 
that  he  had  not  been  quick  enough  to  embrace  the  op- 
portunity of  annihilating  him.  Thunder  lowered  por- 
tentous in  his  black  brows,  and  not  until  he  had  drunk 
several  glasses  of  wine  did  a  word  come  from  his  lips. 
His  presence  was  purgatory  without  the  purifying  ele- 
ment. 

"  What  do  you  think  that  fellow  has  been  here  about 
this  morning?"  he  said  at  length. 

"  What  fellow  ?  "  asked  his  wife  unnecessarily,  for 
she  knew  what  visitor  had  been  shown  into  the  study. 

"  The  highland  fellow,"  he  answered,  "  that  claims  to 
do  what  he  pleases  on  my  property !  " 

Mercy's  face  grew  hot. 

"  Came  actually  to  give  me  the  refusal  of  his  land ! 
—  the  merest  trick  to  get  into  the  house  —  confound 
him !  As  much  as  told  me,  if  I  did  not  buy  it  off-hand, 
I  should  not  have  the  chance  again !  The  cheek  of 
some  people !  To  dare  to  show  his  face  in  my  house 
after  trifling  with  my  daughter's  affections  on  the  pre- 
tence that  he  could  not  marry  a  girl  whose  father  was 
in  trade ! " 

Mercy  felt  she  would  be  false  to  the  man  she  loved, 
and  whom  she  knew  to  be  true,  if  she  did  not  speak. 
She  had  no  thought  of  defending  him,  but  simply  of 
witnessing  to  him. 


ANOTHER   EXPULSION.  519 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  papa,"  she  said,  "  but  the  Mac- 
ruadh  never  trifled  with  me.  He  loves  me,  and  has  not 
given  me  up.  If  he  told  you  he  was  going  to  part  with 
his  land,  he  is  going  to  part  with  it,  and  came  to  you 
first  because  he  must  return  good  for  evil.  I  saw  him 
from  my  window  ride  off:  as  if  he  were  going  to  meet 
the  afternoon  coach." 

She  would  not  have  been  allowed  to  say  so  much,  had 
not  her  father  been  speechless  with  rage.  This  was 
more  than  he  or  any  man  could  bear !  He  rose  from 
the  table,  his  eyes  blazing. 

"  Return  me  good  for  evil ! "  he  roared  ;  "  —  a  beast 
who  has  done  me  more  wrong  than  ever  I  did  in  all  my 
life  !  a  scoundrel  bumpkin  who  loses  not  an  opportu- 
nity of  insulting  me  as  never  was  man  insulted  before  ! 
You  are  an  insolent,  heartless,  depraved  girl !  —  ready 
to  sacrifice  yourself,  body  and  soul,  to  a  man  who  de- 
spises you  and  yours  with  the  pride  of  a  savage  !  You 
hussy,  I  can  scarce  keep  my  hands  off  you !  " 

He  came  towards  her  with  a  threatful  stride.  She 
rose,  pushed  back  her  chair,  and  stood  facing  him. 

"  Strike  me,"  she  said  with  a  choking  voice,  "  if  you 
will,  papa ;  but  mamma  knows  I  am  not  what  you  call 
me  !  I  should  be  false  and  cowardly  if  I  did  not  speak 
the  truth  for  the  man  to  whom  I  owe  "  —  she  was  go- 
ing to  say  "  more  than  to  any  other  human  being,"  but 
she  checked  herself. 

"  If  the  brute  is  your  god,"  said  her  father,  and  struck 
her  on  the  cheek  with  his  open  hand,  "  you  can  go  to 
him ! " 

He  took  her  by  the  arm,  and  pushed  her  before  him 
out  of  the  room,  and  across  the  hall ;  then  opening 
the  door,  shoved  her  from  him  into  the  garden,  and 
flung  the  door  to  behind  her.  The  rain  was  falling  in 


520  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

torrents,  the  night  was  very  dark,  and  when  the  door 
shut,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  lost  her  eyesight. 

It  was  terrible !  —  but,  thank  God,  she  was  free ! 
Without  a  moment's  hesitation  —  while  her  mother 
wept  and  pleaded,  Christina  stood  burning  with  indig- 
nation, the  two  little  ones  sat  white -with  open  mouths, 
and  the  servants  hurried  about  scared,  and  trying  to 
look  as  if  nothing  had  happened  —  Mercy  fled  into  the 
dark.  She  stumbled  into  the  shrubbery  several  times 
before  she  reached  the  gate  ;  and  while  they  imagined 
her  standing  before  the  house  waiting  to  be  let  in,  she 
was  running  from  it  as  from  the  jaws  of  the  pit,  in  ter- 
ror of  a  voice  calling  her  back.  The  pouring  rain  was 
sweet  to  her  whole  indignant  person,  and  especially  to 
the  cheek  where  burned  the  brand  of  her  father's  blow. 
The  road  was  deep  in  mud,  and  she  slipped  and  fell 
more  than  once  as  she  ran. 

Mrs.  Macruadh  was  sitting  in  the  little  parlor,  no 
one  but  Nancy  in  the  house,  when  the  door  opened,  and 
in  came  the  wild-looking  girl,  dragged  and  spent,  and 
dropped  kneeling  at  her  feet.  Great  masses  of  long 
black  hair  hung  dripping  with  rain  about  her  shoulders. 
Her  dress  was  torn  and  wet,  and  soiled  with  clay  from 
the  road  and  earth  from  the  shrubbery.  One  cheek 
was  white,  and  the  other  had  a  red  patch  on  it. 

"  My  poor  child  ! "  cried  the  mother  ;  "  what  has 
happened  ?  Alister  is  away !  " 

"  I  know  that,"  Mercy  panted.  "  I  saw  him  go,  but 
I  thought  you  would  take  me  in  —  though  you  do  not 
like  me  much  !  " 

"  Not  like  you,  my  child  !  "  echoed  the  mother  ten- 
derly. "  I  love  you !  Are  you  not  my  Alister's 
choice  ?  There  are  things  I  could  have  wished  other- 
wise, but " 


ANOTHER   EXPULSION.  521 

"  Well  could  I  wish  them  otherwise  too  !  "  interposed 
Mercy.  "  I  do  not  wish  another  father  ;  and  I  am  not 
qui^e  able  to  wish  he  hadn't  struck  me  and  put  me  out 
into  the  dark  and  the  rain,  but  —  " 

"  Struck  you  and  turned  you  out !  My  poor  child  ! 
What  did  he  do  that  for  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  deserved  it :  It  is  difficult  to  know  how 
to  behave  to  a  father  !  A  father  is  supposed  to  be  one 
whom  you  not  only  love,  as  I  do  mine,  but  of  whom 
you  can  be  proud  as  well !  Now  I  can't  be  proud  of 
mine,  and  I  don't  know  quite  how  to  behave  to  him. 
Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  held  my  peace,  but  when  he 
said  things  that  were  not  —  not  correct  about  Alister, 
misinterpreting  him  altogether,  I  felt  it  cowardly  and 
false  to  hold  my  tongue.  So  I  said  I  did  not  believe 
that  was  what  Alister  meant.  It  is  but  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  ago,  and  it  looks  a  fortnight !  I  don't  think  I 
quite  know  what  I  am  saying  ! 

She  ceased,  laid  her  head  on  Mrs.  Macruadh's  knee, 
then  sank  to  .the  floor,  and  lay  motionless.  All  the 
compassion  of  the  woman,  all  the  protective  pride  of 
the  chieftainess,  woke  in  the  mother.  She  raised  the 
girl  in  her  arms,  and  vowed  that  not  one  of  her  house 
should  set  eyes  on  her  again  without  the  consent  of  her 
son.  He  should  see  how  his  mother  cared  for  what  was 
his  !  —  how  wide  her  arms,  how  big  her  heart,  to  take 
in  what  he  loved !  Dear  to  him,  the  daughter  of  the 
man  she  despised,  should  be  as  the  apple  of  her  eye ! 
They  would  of  course  repent  and  want  her  back,  but 
they  should  not  have  her :  neither  should  a  sound  of 
threat  or  demand  reach  the  darling's  ears.  She  should 
be  in  peace  until  Alister  came  to  determine  her  future. 
There  was  the  mark  of  the  wicked  hand  on  the  sweet 
sallow  cheek !  She  was  not  beautiful,  but  she  would 


522  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

love  her  the  more  to  make  up  !  Thank  God,  they 
had  turned  her  out,  and  that  made  her  free  of  them  ! 
They  should  not  have  her  again ;  Alister  should  have 
her  !  —  and  from  the  hand  of  his  mother  ! 

She  got  her  to  bed,  and  sent  for  Rob  of  the  Angels. 
With  injunctions  to  silence,  she  told  him  to  fetch  his 
father,  and  be  ready  as  soon  as  possible  to  drive  a  cart 
to  the  chief's  cave,  there  to  make  everything  comfort- 
able to  receive  herself  and  Miss  Mercy  Palmer. 

Mercy  slept  well,  and  as  the  day  was  breaking  Mrs. 
Macruadh  woke  her  and  helped  her  to  dress.  Then 
they  walked  together  through  the  lovely  spring  morning 
to  the  turn  of  the  valley  road,  where  a  cart  was  waiting 
them,  half -filled  with  oat-straw.  They  got  in  and  were 
borne  up  and  up  at  a  walking-pace  to  the  spot  Mercy 
knew  so  well.  Never  by  swiftest  coach  had  she  en- 
joyed a  journey  so  much  as  that  slow  crawl  up  the 
mountains  in  the  rough  springless  cart  of  her  plough- 
man lover !  She  felt  so  protected,  so  happy,  so  hope- 
ful. Alister's  mother  was  indeed  a  hiding  place  from 
the  wind,  a  covert  from  the  tempest !  Having  consented 
to  be  her  mother,  she  could  mother  her  no  way  but  en- 
tirely. An  outcast  for  the  sake  of  her  Alister,  she 
should  have  the  warmest  corner  of  her  heart  next  to 
him  and  Ian ! 

Into  the  tomb  they  went,  and  found  everything 
strangely  comfortable  —  the  stone-floor  covered  with 
warm  and  woolly  skins  of  black-faced  sheep,  a  great 
fire  glowing,  plenty  of  provisions  hung  and  stored,  and 
the  deaf,  keen-eyed  father  with  the  swift,  keen-eared 
son  for  attendants. 

"You  will  not  mind  sharing  your  bed  with  me  — 
will  you,  my  child  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Macruadh  :  "  our  ac- 
commodation is  scanty.  But  we  shall  be  safe  from 


ANOTHER   EXPULSION.  523 

intrusion.  Only  those  two  faithful  men  know  where 
we  are." 

"  My  mother  will  be  terribly  frightened  ! "  said 
Mercy. 

"  I  thought  of  that  and  left  a  note  with  Nancy,  tell- 
ing her  you  were  safe  and  well,  but  giving  no  hint  where. 
I  told  her  that  her  dove  had  flown  to  my  bosom  for 
shelter,  and  there  she  should  have  it." 

Mercy  answered  with  a  passionate  embrace. 

Ten  peaceful  days  they  spent  in  the  cave-house.  It 
was  cold  outside,  but  the  clear  air  of  the  hill-top  was 
delicious,  and  inside  it  was  warm  and  dry.  There  were 
plenty  of  books,  and  Mercy  never  felt  the  time  a  mo- 
ment too  long.  The  mother  talked  freely  of  her  sons, 
and  of  their  father,  of  the  history  of  the  clan,  of  her 
own  girlhood,  and  of  the  hopes  and  intentions  of  her 
sons. 

"  Will  you  go  with  him,  Mercy  ?  "  she  asked,  laying 
her  hand  on  hers. 

"  I  would  rather  be  his  servant,"  answered  Mercy, 
"  than  remain  at  home :  there  is  no  life  there !  " 

"  There  is  life  wherever  there  is  the  will  to  live  — 
that  is,  to  do  the  thing  that  is  given  one  to  do,"  said 
the  mother. 

In  writing  she  told  Alister  nothing  of  what  had  hap- 
pened :  he  might  hurry  home  without  completing  his 
business!  Undisturbed  by  fresh  anxiety,  he  settled 
everything,  parted  with  his  property  to  an  old  friend  of 
the  family,  and  received  what  would  suffice  for  his  fur- 
ther intents.  He  also  chartered  a  vessel  to  take  them 
over  the  sea,  and  to  save  weariness  and  expense  arranged 
for  it  to  go  northwards  as  far  as  a  certain  bay  on  the 
coast,  and  there  take  the  clan  on  board. 

When  at  length  he  reached  home,  Nancy  informed 


524  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

him  that  his  mother  was  at  the  hill-house,  and  begged 
he  would  go  there  to  her.  He  was  a  good  deal  per- 
plexed. She  very  seldom  went  there,  and  had  never 
before  gone  for  the  night !  and  it  was  so  early  in  the 
season !  He  set  out  immediately. 

It  was  twilight  when  they  reached  the  top  of  the  hill, 
and  no  light  shone  from  the  little  windows  of  the  tomb. 

That  day  Mercy  had  been  amusing  her  protectress 
with  imitations,  in  which  kind  she  had  some  gift,  of 
certain  of  her  London  acquaintance  :  when  the  mother 
heard  her  son's  approaching  step  a  thought  came  to 
her. 

"  Here !  quick !  "  she  said ;  "  put  on  my  cap  and 
shawl,  and  sit  in  this  chair.  I  will  go  into  the  bed-room. 
Then  do  as  you  like." 

When  the  chief  entered,  he  saw  the  form  of  his 
mother,  as  he  thought,  bending  over  the  peat-fire,  which 
had  sunk  rather  low  :  in  his  imagination  he  saw  again 
the  form  of  his  uncle  as  on  that  night  in  the  low  moon- 
light. She  did  not  move,  did  not  even  look  up.  He 
stood  still  for  a  moment ;  a  strange  feeling  possessed 
him  of  something  not  being  as  it  ought  to  be,  but  he  re- 
covered himself  with  an  effort,  and  kneeling  beside  her, 
put  his  arms  around  her.  He  was  not  a  little  frightened 
at  her  continued  silence. 

"What  is  the  matter,  mother  dear?"  he  said. 
"Why  have  you  come  up  to  this  lonely  place?" 

When  first  Mercy  felt  his  arms  round  her,  she  could 
not  have  spoken  if  she  would  —  her  heart  seemed  to 
grow  too  large  for  her  body.  But  in  a  moment  or  two 
she  controlled  herself,  and  was  able  to  say  —  sufficiently 
in  his  mother's  tone  and  manner  to  keep  up  the  imitated 
misconception : 

"  They  put  me  out  of  the  house,  Alister." 


ANOTHER   EXPULSION.  525 

"  Put  you  out  of  the  house !  "  he  returned,  like  one 
hearing  and  talking  in  a  dream.  "  Who  dared  interfere 
with  you,  mother  ?  Am  I  losing  my  senses  ?  I  seem 
not  to  understand  my  own  words ! " 

"  Mr.  Palmer." 

"  Mr.  Palmer !  Was  it  to  him  I  sold  the  land  in 
London  ?  What  could  he  have  to  do  with  you,  mother  ? 
How  did  they  allow  him  to  come  near  the  house  in  my 
absence  ?  Oh,  I  see !  He  came  and  worried  you  so 
about  Mercy  that  you  were  glad  to  take  refuge  from 
him  up  here !  —  I  understand  now !  " 

He  ended  in  a  tone  of  great  relief.  He  felt  as  if  he 
had  just  recovered  his  senses. 

"  No,  that  was  not  it.  But  we  are  going  so  soon 
there  would  have  been  no  good  in  fighting  it  out.  We 
are  going  soon,  are  we  not  ?  " 

"  Indeed  we  are,  please  God ! "  replied  the  chief,  who 
had  relapsed  into  bewilderment. 

"  That  is  well  —  for  you  more  than  anybody. —  Would 
you  believe  it  — -  the  worthless  girl  vows  she  will  never 
leave  her  father's  house  !  " 

"  Ah,  mother,  you  never  heard  her  say  so !  I  know 
Mercy  better  than  that !  She  will  leave  it  when  I  say 
come.  But  that  won't  be  now.  I  must  wait,  and  come 
and  fetch  her  when  she  is  of  age." 

"  She  is  not  worthy  of  you !  " 

"  She  is  worthy  of  me  if  I  were  twenty  times 
worthier !  Mother,  mother  what  has  turned  you  against 
us  again?  It  is  not  like  you  to  change  about  so  !  I 
cannot  bear  to  find  you  changeable  !  I  should  have 
sworn  you  were  just  the  one  to  understand  her  per- 
fectly !  I  cannot  bear  you  should  let  unworthy  reasons 
prejudice  you  against  anyone !  —  If  you  say  a  word 
more  against  her,  I  will  go  outside  and  sit  with  the 


526  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

moon.  She  is  not  up  yet,  but  she  will  be  presently  — 
and  though  she  is  rather  old  and  silly,  I  shall  find  her 
much  better  company  than  you,  mother  dear ! " 

He  spoke  playfully,  but  was  grievously  puzzled. 

"  To  whom  are  you  talking,  Alister  ?  —  yourself  or  a 
ghost?" 

Alister  started  up,  and  saw  his  mother  coming  from 
the  bed-room  with  a  candle  in  her  hand !  He  stood 
stupefied.  He  looked  again  at  the  seated  figure,  still 
bending  over  the  fire.  Who  was  it  if  not  his  mother  ? 

With  a  wild  burst  of  almost  hysterical  laughter,  Mercy 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  threw  herself  in  his  arms.  It 
was  not  the  less  a  new  bewilderment  that  it  was  an  un- 
speakably delightful  change  from  the  last.  Was  he 
awake  or  dreaming?  Was  the  dream  of  his  boyhood 
come  true  ?  or  was  he  dreaming  it  on  in  his  manhood  ? 
The  princess  was  arrived !  She  was  here  in  his  cave  to 
be  his  own ! 

A  great  calm  and  a  boundless  hope  filled  the  heart 
of  Alister.  The  night  was  far  advanced  when  he  left 
them  to  go  home.  Nor  did  he  find  his  way  home,  but, 
almost  without  meaning  it,  wandered  all  night  about 
the  tomb,  making  long  rounds  and  still  returning  like 
an  angel  sent  to  hover  and  watch  until  the  morning. 
When  he  astonished  them  by  entering  as  they  sat  at 
breakfast,  and  he  told  them  how  he  had  passed  the 
night,  it  thrilled  Mercy's  heart  to  know  that,  while  she 
slept  and  was  dreaming  about  him,  he  was  awake  and 
thinking  about  her ! 

"  What  is  only  dreaming  in  me,  is  thinking  in  you, 
Alister !  "  she  said. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  returned  Alister,  "  that  as  you  did 
not  know  I  was  watching  you,  so,  when  we  feel  as  if 
God  were  nowhere,  he  is  watching  over  us  all  the  time 


ANOTHER    EXPULSION.  527 

with  an  eternal  consciousness ;  that  he  is  above  and 
beyond  our  every  hope  and  fear,  untouched  by  the 
varying  faith  and  fluctuating  moods  of  his  children." 

After  breakfast  he  went  to  see  the  clergyman  of  the 
parish,  who  lived  some  miles  away ;  the  result  of  which 
visit  was  that  after  a  few  days  they  were  married. 
First,  however,  he  went  once  more  to  the  New  House 
desiring  to  tell  Mr.  Palmer  what  had  been  and  was 
about  to  be  done.  He  refused  to  see  him,  and  would 
not  allow  his  wife  or  Christina  to  go  to  him. 

The  wedding  was  solemnized  at  noon  within  the 
ruined  walls  of  the  old  castle.  The  withered  remnant 
of  the  clan  marched,  with  pipes  playing,  guns  firing,  and 
shouts  of  celebration  to  the  cave  house  to  fetch  thence 
the  bride.  When  the  ceremony  was  over,  a  feast  was 
ready  for  all  in  the  barn,  and  much  dancing  followed. 

When  evening  came,  with  a  half-moon  hanging  faint 
in  the  limpid  blue,  and  the  stars  looking  large  through 
the  mist  of  ungatherecl  tears  —  those  of  nature,  not  the 
lovers ;  with  a  wind  like  the  breath  of  a  sleeping  child, 
sweet  and  soft,  and  full  of  dreams  of  summer;  the 
mountains  and  hills  asleep  around  them  like  a  flock  of 
day-wearied  things,  and  haunted  by  the  angels  of  Rob's 
visions  —  the  lovers,  taking  leave  only  of  the  mother, 
stole  away  to  walk  through  the  heavenly  sapphire  of 
the  still  night,  up  the  hills  and  over  the  rushing  streams 
of  the  spring,  to  the  cave  of  their  rest  —  no  ill  omen, 
but  lovely  symbol  to  such  as  held  the  tomb  for  the 
porch  of  paradise.  Where  should  true  lovers  make 
their  bed  but  on  the  threshold  of  eternity ! 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

THE   FAREWELL. 

A  MONTH  passed,  and  the  flag  of  their  exile 
-£-*-  was  flying  in  the  bay.  The  same  hour  it  was 
descried  the  chief's  horses  were  put  to,  the  carts  were 
loaded,  their  last  things  gathered.  Few  farewells  had 
to  be  made,  for  the  whole  clan,  except  two  that  had 
gone  to  the  bad,  had  turned  out  at  the  hour  appointed. 
The  chief  arranged  them  in  marching  column.  Fore- 
most went  the  pipes ;  the  chief,  his  wife  and  his  mother, 
came  next ;  Hector  of  the  Stags,  carrying  the  double- 
barrelled  rifle  the  chief  had  given  him,  Rob  of  the  An- 
gels, and  Donal  shoemaker,  followed.  Then  came  the 
women  and  children  ;  next  the  carts,  with  a  few,  who 
could  not  walk,  on  the  top  of  the  baggage ;  the  men 
brought  up  the  rear,  with  four  or  five  favorite  dogs. 

The  road  to  the  bay  led  them  past  the  gate  of  the 
New  House.  The  chief  called  a  halt,  and  went  with 
his  wife  to  seek  a  last  interview.  Mr.  Peregrine  Pal- 
mer kept  his  room,  but  Mrs.  Palmer  bade  her  daughter 
a  loving  farewell  —  more  relieved  than  she  cared  to 
show,  that  the  cause  of  so  much  discomfort  was  going 
so  far  away. 

The  children  wept.  Christina  bade  her  sister 
good-by  with  a  hopeless,  almost  envious  look ;  Mercy, 
who  did  not  love  him,  would  see  lUn !  she  who  would 
give  her  soul  for  him  was  never  to  look  on  him  again 
in  this  world ! 

528 


THE    FAKEWELL.  529 

Kissing  Mercy  once  more,  she  choked  down  a  sob,  and 
whispered, 

"  Give  my  love  —  no,  my  heart,  to  Ian,  and  tell  him 
I  am  trying." 

They  all  walked  to  the  gate  together,  and  there  the 
chief's  mother  took  her  leave  of  the  ladies  of  the  New 
House.  The  pipes  struck  up  ;  the  column  moved  on. 

When  they  came  to  the  corner  which  would  hide 
from  them  their  native  strath,  the  march  changed  to  a 
lament,  and  with  the  opening  wail,  all  stopped  and 
turned  for  a  farewell  look.  Men  and  women,  the  chief 
alone  excepted,  burst  into  weeping,  and  the  sound  of 
their  lamentation  went  wandering  through  the  hills  to 
every  beloved  spot  with  an  adieu.  And  this  is  what 
the  pipes  said : 

We  shall  never  see  you  more, 

Never  more,  never  more ! 
Till  the  sea  be  dry,  and  the  world  be  bare, 
And  the  dews  have  ceased  to  fall, 
And  the  rivers  have  ceased  to  run, 
We  shall  never  see  you  more, 

Never  more,  never  more  I 

They  stood  and  gazed,  and  the  pipes  went  on  lament- 
ing, and  the  women  went  on  weeping. 

"  This  is  heathenism  ! "  said  Alister  to  himself,  and 
stopped  the  piper. 

"  My  friends,"  he  cried,  in  Gaelic  of  course,  "  look 
at  me  :  my  eyes  are  dry !  Where  Jesus,  the  Son  of 
God,  is  —  there  is  my  home !  He  is  here,  and  he  is 
over  the  sea,  and  my  home  is  everywhere !  I  have  lost 
my  land  and  my  country,  but  I  take  with  me  my  peo- 
ple, and  make  no  moan  over  my  exile !  Hearts  are 
more  than  hills.  Farewell,  Strathruadh  of  my  child- 
hood !  Place  of  my  dreams,  I  shall,  please  God,  visit 


530  WHAT'S  MINE'S  MINE. 

you  again  in  my  sleep  !  And  again  I  shall  see  you  in 
happier  times,  with  my  friends  around  me  !  " 

He  took  off  his  bonnet.  The  men  uncovered  for  a 
moment,  then  turned  to  follow  their  chief.  The  pipes 
struck  up  Macrimmon's  lament,  Till  an  crodh  a 
Dhounachaidh  (  Turn  the  kine,  Duncan).  Not  one 
looked  behind  him  again  till  they  reached  the  shore. 
There,  out  in  the  bay,  the  biggest  ship  any  of  the  clan 
had  ever  seen  was  waiting  to  receive  them. 

When  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  saw  that  the  land  might 
in  truth  be  for  sale,  he  would  gladly  have  bought  it,  but 
found  to  his  chagrin  that  he  was  too  late.  It  was  just 
like  the  fellow,  he  said,  to  mock  him  with  the  chance  of 
buying  it !  he  took  care  not  to  send  a  man  he  could 
have  believed ! 

The  clan  throve  in  the  clearings  of  the  pine  forests. 
The  hill-men  stared  at  their  harvests  as  if  they  saw 
them  growing.  Their  many  children  were  strong  and 
healthy,  and  called  Scotland  their  home. 

In  an  outlying  and  barren  part  of  the  chief's  land, 
they  came  upon  rock  oil.  It  was  so  plentiful  that  as 
soon  as  carriage  became  possible,  the  chief  and  his  peo- 
ple began  to  grow  rich. 

News  came  to  them  that  Mr.  Peregrine  Palmer  was  in 
difficulties,  and  desirous  of  parting  with  his  highland 
estate.  The  chief  was  now  able  to  buy  it  ten  times  over. 
He  gave  his  agent  directions  to  secure  it  for  him  in  Lon- 
don, with  any  other  land  conterminous  that  might  come 
into  the  market.  But  he  would  not  at  once  return  to 
occupy  it,  for  his  mother  dreaded  the  sea,  and  thought 
to  start  soon  for  another  home.  Also  he  would  rather 
have  his  boys  grow  where  they  were,  and  as  men  face 
the  temptations  beyond :  where  could  they  find  such 


THE    FAREWELL.  531 


teaching  as  that  of  their  uncle  Ian !  Both  father  and 
uncle  would  have  them  alive  before  encountering  what 
the  world  calls  life. 

But  the  Macruadh  yet  dreams  of  the  time  when  those 
of  the  clan  then  left  in  the  world,  accompanied,  he 
hopes,  by  some  of  those  that  went  out  before  them,  shall 
go  back  to  repeople  the  old  waste  places,  and  make  the 
mountain  land  no  more  a  wilderness  of  white  sheep  and 
red  deer,  but  a  nursery  for  honest,  unambitious,  brave, 
strong-hearted  men  and  women,  loving  God  and  their 
neighbor ;  where  no  man  will  think  of  himself  at  his 
brother's  cost,  no  man  grow  rich  by  his  neighbor's  ruin, 
no  man  lay  field  to  field,  to  treasure  up  for  himself 
wrath  against  the  day  of  wrath. 


NEW   PUBLICATIONS. 


AMEKICAN    EXPLORATIONS    IN    THE   ICE 

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tion with  the  efforts  put  forth  under  American 
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problems  presented  in  the  North  and  South  Polar 
regions.  The  author,  Prof.  J.  E.  Nourse,  of  the 
United  States  Naval  Observatory,  a  man  of  rare  sci- 
entific attainments,  has  brought  to  the  work  supe- 
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pleasing  style  in  which  he  has  written.  While  it  is 
descriptive  of  the  honorable  record  chiefly  of  Amer- 
ican Arctic  explorations,  from  the  date  of  the  first 
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Franklin,  to  the  thrilling  history  of  the  ill-fated 
Jeannette*  it  includes  a  brief,  but  most  satisfactory 
sketch  of  the  early  explorations  of  the  English,  and 
other  nations.  The  chief  points  of  each  expedition 
are  presented  without  the  details  of  the  explorers. 
With  no  advocacy  of  further  voyages  to  the  Pole, 
the  writer  sums  up  the  beneficial  results  secured 
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science  and  accredits  the  just  liberality  of  the  United 
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tude of  the  explorers,  the  history  of  whose  labors  is 
most  honorable  to  the  nation,  and  instructive 
as  exhibiting  what  has  been  accomplished  for  the 
correction  of  false  theories,  for  widening  the  field  of 
scientific  investigation,  and  opening  new  channels 
to  commerce.  The  energy,  perseverance,  and  forti- 
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of  the  officers  and  crews  of  our  Navy  and  our  Mer- 
chant Marine,  are  brilliant  examples  for  the  young. 
The  volume  has  numerous  illustrations  of  the  labors 
of  the  explorers,  with  a  large  circumpolar  map  in 
three  colors,  showing  the  routes  and  highest  posi- 
tions reached  in  each  hemisphere.  Altogether  the 
book  is  one  of  the  most  intensely  interesting  of 
recent  publications,  and  in  its  special  field  must  be 
regarded  as  a  standard  work. 

*  American  Explorations  in  the  Ice  Zones.     By  Professor  J.  E. 
Nourse,  U.  S.  N.'    Boston.  D.  Lathrop&  Co.     Price,  $3.50. 


RECENT    PUBLICATIONS. 


Youxo-  FOLKS'  LIFE  of  WASHINGTON.  By  E 
E.  Brown.  Boston:  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  1.50. 
The  inquiry  will  naturally  present  itself  to  many, 
"Why  write  a  new  life  of  Washington,  when  FO 
many  have  already  been  written?"  The  answer  is 
simple  enough:  The  biographies  thus  far  prepared 
have  been  for  the  most  part  addressed  to  older 
readers.  They  have  been  bulky  in  form,  and  cum- 
bered with  detail  to  such  an  extent  as  to  put  them, 
however  valuable  in  themselves,  outside  the  limits 
of  "popular"  works.  Young  readers  care  more 
for  incident  than  political  disquisition,  a  fact  that 
has  been  fully  recognized  by  the  author  of  the 
present  volume.  The  early  life  of  Washington  is 
pleasantly  sketched  and  illustrated  by  anecdotes  in 
which  the  character  of  the  future  great  man  is 
strongly  foreshadowed.  His  riper  life  and  the 
deeds  which  gained  him  the  well-deserved  title  of 
the  Father  of  bis  Country,  are  more  fully  described, 
The  volume  is  profusely  illustrated. 

TWENTY-SIX  HOURS  A  DAY.  By  Mary  blake. 
Boston:  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  1.00.  The  aim 
of  this  bright  little  volume  is  fully  expressed  in  its 
dedication:  **To  busy  mothers,  hoping  to  help 
solve  some  of  the  troublesome  problems  of  a 
woman's  life."  There  is  no  mother  in  the  land 
whose  case  it  does  not  touch  in  some  degree,  and 
not  one  who  cannot  gain  from  its  pages,  if  patiently 
and  considerately  read,  the  help  it  was  intended  to 
give  .1  the  opening  chapters  Mrs.  Blake  tells 
motners  how  to  get  the  twenty-six  hours  which 
they  declare  are  necessary  to  enable  them  to  do  all 
that  is  required  in  a  day;  how  to  use  them,  and 
why  women  want  them.  There  are  many  sharp 
4hings  said  in  these  chapters  which  some  readers 
will  wince  at  and  some  disagree  with,  but  they  are 
true  nevertheless.  A  second  and  third  division  of 
the  book  are  in  the  form  of  "  Letters  to  a  Young 
Mother,"  and  their  contents  deal  with  the  care  of 
the  baby,  the  question  of  discipline  among  young 
children,  hints  on  early  education,  indoor  amuse- 
ments, girls'  dolls  and  boys'  collections,  order  in 
the  household,  Sunday  occupations,  holidays,  etc. 
It  would  be  impossible  for  any  woman  to  read  this 
book  without  gleaning  from  it  some  hints  for  lessen- 
ing the  burden  <>f  driily  toil  for  themselves,  for 
making  children  happier  and  Lome  pleasanter. 


NEW    PUBLICATIONS. 

IDEAL  POEMS.  Illustrated  by  famous  artists. 
Boston :  D.  Lothrop  <fc  Co.  Price  $3.00.  This 
exquisite  volume  takes  first  place  among  the  illus- 
trated books  of  the  year,  both  in  the  character  of  its 
contents  and  the  elegance  of  its  binding.  It  con- 
tains twelve  of  the  choicest  poems  in  the  English 
language,—  Tennyson's  "  Ring  Out,  Wild  Bells," 
and  "The  Brook;"  Kingsley's  "  Three  Fishers;" 
Browning's  "  How  They  Brought  the  Good  News;'* 
George  Eliot's  "Oh,  may  I  Join  the  Choir  invisible;" 
Mrs.  Browning's  "  Mother  and  Poet;"  Burn's  "A 
Man's  a  Man  for  a'  That;"  Wordsworth's  "Na- 
ture's Lady,"  and"  She  was  a  Phantom  of  Delight; " 
Adelaide  Proctor's  "Lost  Chord;  "  Shelley's  "  Sky- 
lark," and  Mrs.  Norton's  "Bingen  on  the  Rhine." 
These  poems  are  beautifully  illustrated  by  such 
artists  as  Walter  Shirlaw,  W.  L.  Taylor,  E.  H 
Garrett,  St.  John  Harper,  Hovenden,  Harry  Sand- 
ham  and  Jessie  Curtis  Shepard.  The  text  is  printed 
on  the  heaviest  paper,  and  the  volume  is  bound  both 
in  regular  book  form  and  in  the  "Golden  Floral" 
style  which  has  become  so  popular. 

THE  SILVER  CITY.  A  Romance  of  Central 
American  Travel.  By  Fred  A.  Ober.  Illustrated. 
Boston:  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  $1.50.  Readers 
who  have  followed  this  fascinating  story  as  a  serial 
in  the  pages  of  WIDE  AWAKE  will  be  glad  to  have 
it  by  itself  in  book  form.  Mr.  Ober  in  writing  it 
has  drawn  his  facts  and  inspirations  from  real 
sources,  which  will  account  for  its  strong  local 
flavor.  He  has  made  two  or  three  visits  to  Central 
America,  and  gone  over  the  ground  which  he 
describes  very  thoroughly,  his  purpose  having  been 
to  give  as  nearly  as  possible  a  correct  picture  of  the 
country,  with  a  description  of  its  people,  their  habits, 
customs  and  peculiar  beliefs.  It  is  splendidly  il- 
lustrated. 


NEW   PUBLICATIONS. 


LIFE  OF  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES.* 
There  can  hardly  be  a  more  welcome  addition  to 
biographical  literature,  than  the  delightfully  enter- 
teining  story  of  the  life  of  the  author  of  The  Auto- 
crat at  the  Breakfast-Table,  as  told  by  E.  E.  Brown 
in  this  attractive  volume.  Doctor  Holmes  is  one  of 
the  few  names  in  American  literature  which  has 
come  to  have  a  meaning  apart  from  the  literary  pro- 
ductions with  which  it  is  connected.  The  remark- 
able personality  of  the  man  who  has  been  for  two 
score  years  a  centre  for  the  wide  radiation  of  genial 
influences,  has  impressed  itself  npon  the  mind  of 
his  time,  as  has  been  the  case  with  few  authors. 

The  author  of  this  book,  with  an  evident  reali- 
zation of  this  fact,  has  given  us  a  biography  in 
which  the  man  and  the  writer  are  distinctly  por- 
trayed, and  in  a  manner  so  discriminating  and 
appreciative  as  to  leave  little  to  be  desired.  Great 
value  is  added  to  the  book  by  the  fact  that  it  has 
the  sanction  of  Doctor  Holmes,  who  has  furnished  to 
its  author  an  interesting  fund  of  fresh  material. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  AN  OCTOGENARIAN.! 
An  unusual  interest  attaches  to  the  retrospective 
views  of  men  advanced  in  years  who  have  seen 
much  of  life,  and  have  mingled  largely  in  its  affairs. 
This  book,  which  is  a  most  pleasing,  entertaining, 
and,  withal,  instructive  presentation  of  its  OctogeiN 
arian  author's  —  Henry  Hill's  —  recollections,  is  by 
no  means  an  exception  to  the  rule.  Beginning  with 
life  on  the  Hudson  in  1796,  we  are  treated  to  chap- 
ters on  New  York  in  1812,  New  Jersey  in  1814,  a 
voyage  to  England,  France,  Belgium  and  Holland 
in  1815  and  1816;  a  subsequent  journey  to  the  West 
Indies;  and  journeys  to  Chili  and  Buenos  Ayres 
and  across  the  Andes  in  1817  and  1821,  with 
various  other  journeyings  and  affairs  of  bygone 
times,  all  of  which,  to  the  reader  of  to-day,  are 
interesting  as  indicating  the  marvellous  changes 
wrought  in  the  years  which  have  passed  since  the 
author's  experiences  became  recollections.  His 

Eersonal  recollect flons  of  the  noted  men  of  his  day, 
i  America  and  Europe,  are  most  interesting. 

*  Life  of  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  Ey  E.  E.  Brown.  Boston: 
D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price,  $1.50. 

•f  Recollections  of  an  Octogenarian.  By  Henry  Hill.  Boston: 
D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price,  75  cents. 


NEW    PUBLICATIONS. 


DAISY  GREEN.  By  Mrs.  Susie  A.  Bisbee.  Bos- 
ton :  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  $  .80  All  fond 
mothers  treasure  up  in  their  memories  the  quaint 
sayings  and  mischievous  pranks  of  their  little  ones, 
but  few  of  them  ever  get  time  to  embalm  them  in 
a  book.  Mrs.  Bisbee  has  been  fortunate  enough, 
however,  to  have  the  opportunity  and  inclination, 
and  in  the  stories  which  make  up  the  Daisy  Green 
collection  she  has  made  use  of  real  material.  Many 
mothers  will  smile  in  turning  over  its  pages  to  find 
things  which  they  might  have  written  out  of  their 
experiences  and  memories,  so  much  are  children 
alike.  Some  of  the  stories  are  very  funny,  and 
one  cannot  help  thinking  after  closing  the  book 
that  Daisy  must  have  been  a  child  of  remarkably 
active  mind  and  vivid  imagination  to  have  said 
and  done  all  the  extraordinary  things  here  chron- 
icled. The  frontispiece  is  a  genuine  portrait  of 
Daisy  herself. 

THE  POET  AND  THE  CHILDREN.  Edited  by 
Matthew  Henry  Lothrop.  Illustrated.  Boston:  D. 
Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  $5.00.  This  is  a  new  and 
enlarged  edition  of  one  of  the  most  elegant  present- 
ation books  ever  issued  in  this  country.  In  addi- 
tion to  the  former  text  there  are  new  poems  by 
Celia  Thaxter,  Paul  H.  Hayne,  Lucy  Larcom, 
Margaret  Sidney  and  other  popular  poets,  with 
illustrations  from  the  pencils  of  such  artists  as 
Miss  Humphrey,  E.  H.  Garrett,  Jessie  Curtis  Shep- 
ard  and  others.  It  has  for  its  leading  poem  Whit- 
tier's  verses,  which  give  title  to  the  book.  The 
different  poems  are  the  contributions  of  some  of  the 
finest  writers  in  the  country,  and  are  especially 
adapted  to  the  tastes  and  capacities  of  young  read- 
ers, while  all  possible  pains  have  been  taken  to 
make  its  outside  as  attractive  as  its  contents.  It  is 
filled  with  exquisite  illustrations. 


RECENT    PUBLICATIONS, 

DCXCTAL  GRANT.  By  George  MacDonald.  Boston? 
D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  $1.50.  In  this  last  work 
of  this  distinguished  author  we  have  what  may  be 
asserted  without  qualification  to  be  his  best.  It  is 
essentially  a  religious  story:  not  an  obtrusive  put- 
ting forth  of  sectarian  argument  or  assertion  of 
particular  doctrinal  points,  but  religious  in  the 
free,  broad  and  healthy  sense  of  the  word.  In 
Donal  Grant  the  author  has  drawn  the  picture  of  a 
strong  man ;  strong  both  in  head  and  heart ;  a  de- 
vout believer  in  the  sacred  word ;  a  poet,  and  yet 
practical  in  the  workings  of  everyday  life.  Another 
character  drawn  with  hardly  less  skill  is  that  of  the 
old  cobbler,  Andrew  Comin,  whose  quaint  remarks 
and  reflections  constitute  some  of  the  best  passages 
in  the  book.  Like  most  of  Mr.  MacDonald's  sto- 
ries, the  scene  is  laid  in  Scotland.  The  only  bar  to 
the  thorough  enjoyment  of  the  book  by  all  classes 
of  readers  is  the  use  of  the  Scotch  dialect  by  so 
many  of  the  characters.  That  objection  will  hold 
good  with  but  a  few,  however,  for  to  many  it  will 
give  the  story  a  flavor  which  cannot  help  adding  to 
its  attractiveness.  The  volume  is  in  uniform  style 
with  the  preceding  works  of  this  author. 

KEENIE'S  TO-MORROW.  By  Jennie  M.  D.  Conk- 
lin.  Boston:  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Afmodel  S.  S. 
book,  having  the  same  kind  of  traits  and  disappoint- 
ments as  happens  in  most  families.  There  are  no 
impossible?  heroes  or  heroines;  but  the  passions, 
the  weaknesses,  the  ambitions  and  failures  are  such 
as  human  flesh  is  heir  to  everywhere.  Keenie  is  a 
true  heroine,  helpful  to  mother  at  home,  a  tower  of 
strength  for  an  impulsive  brother,  and  an  invalid 
sister,  but  having  sore  trials  of  her  own,  which 
develop  a  beautiful  and  unselfish  character.  Such 
books  are  good  to  read  in  the  family  and  in  Sun- 
day-school. Price  $1.25. 


RECENT   PUBLICATIONS. 


ABOUND  THE  RANCH.  By  Belle  Kellogg  Towne. 
V.  I.  F.  Series.  Boston  :  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price 
$1.25.  Here  is  a  story  by  a  new  author  which  will 
at  once  attract  the  attention  of  its  readers  and  hold 
it  from  the  first  page  to  the  last.  The  scene 
opens  in  the  Colorado  mining  regions,  and  the 
author,  who  is  evidently  familiar  with  the  localities 
described,  gives  a  series  of  very  vivid  pictures  of 
life  among  the  mountain  settlers.  The  main  in- 
terest of  the  story  lies  in  following  out  the  career 
of  its  two  principal  characters,  Dan  Deering  and 
Deb  Gibbs.  Both  are  children,  bred  under  different 
auspices  and  conditions,  and  in  most  things  totally 
unlike.  The  boy  is  city  born  and  brought  up,  but 
at  the  death  of  his  mother,  when  he  is  hardly  more 
than  ten  years  old,  he  is  confided  to  the  care  of 
his  brother,  a  miner  in  the  mountains,  an  honest, 
hard-working  man,  who  does  his  best  to  make  his 
lot  a  pleasant  one.  Here  his  only  playmate  is  Deb 
Gibbs,  the  daughter  of  a  well-to-do,  but  uncultivated 
settler,  a  girl  of  rare  natural  qualities,  but  wild  and 
strong  as  an  untamed  colt.  Her  parents  are  proud 
of  her,  and  are  ambitious  to  have  her  educated  and 
exposed  to  the  refining  influences  of  a  different 
life  from  their  own.  An  opportunity  offers  not 
many  mouths  after  Dan's  arrival  in  the  mountains, 
and  she  goes  with  a  family  of  summer  visitors  to 
their  city  home,  where  she  enters  upon  a  new  and 
strange  life,  and  one  which  is  in  many  respects 
galling  and  uncomfortable.  She  misses  the  free 
wild  air  of  the  mountains,  and  chafes  against  the 
barriers  of  society  which  surround  her  on  every 
side.  As  time  goes  on,  however,  she  assimilates 
herself  to  the  conditions  of  her  new  life,  yet  with- 
out losing  her  independence  or  any  weakening 
of  her  better  qualities.  The  narrative  of  her 
experiences  is  intensely  interesting,  and  is  full 
of  suggestions  for  girls  of  like  age  who  rebel 
against  certain  conditions  of  their  lives.  Just  as 
interesting,  too,  is  the  story  of  the  brief  career  of 
brave  Dan. 


E.  E.  Brown's  Life  of  Washington,  although  an 
old  subject,  is  freshly  treated,  and  contains  much 
interesting  matter  which  has  never  before  found 
place  in  any  popular  biography  of  the  Father  of  his 
Country. 


Recent  Books  by  Well-known  Authors. 

THE  FAMILY  FLIGHTS. 

By  Rev.  E.  E.  Hale  and  Miss  Susan  Hale. 

Fresh,  piquant,  graphic,  full  of  delicate  humor,  marked  by 
grace  in  diction  and  thorough  scholarship,  these  books  are  not 
only  unsurpassed,  but  unequalled  by  any  books  of  similar  charac- 
ter. They  treat  of  the  interesting  features  of  the  various  countries 
named,  including  history,  geography,  natural  scenery,  popular 
characteristics  and  customs,  and  much  else  that  will  prove  of  real 
interest  and  value  to  the  reader.  The  authors  have  drawn  their 
material  from  original  sources,  the  countries  referred  to  having 
been  actually  visited,  and  the  descriptions  embody  the  results  of 
personal  observation.  The  illustrations  are  not  only  numerous 
and  excellent,  but  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  text.  While 
specially  attractive  to  the  young,  adult  readers  who  have  them- 
selves visited  the  lands  described,  are  among  the  most  appreciative 
and  enthusiastic  readers  of  these  books. 

A  FAMILY  FLIGHT  ABOUND  HOME.    8vo,  cloth, 
gilt.  2.50 

A    FAMILY    FLIGHT     THROUGH    FRANCE, 
GERMANY,  NORWAY  AND  SWITZERLAND. 

8vo,  illuminated  board  covers  and  linings,  2.00;   extra  cloth, 
gilt.  2.50 

A  FAMILY  FLIGHT  OVER  EGYPT  AND  SYRIA. 

8vo,  illuminated  board  covers  and  linings,  2.00 ;    extra  cloth, 
gilt.  2.50 

A  FAMILY  FLIGHT    THROUGH  SPAIN.     8vo, 
illuminated  board  covers  and  linings,  2.00 ;  extra  cloth,  gilt,  2.50 

A  FAMILY  FLIGHT  TO  MEXICO.    Uniform  with  the 
above. 

D.  LOTHROP  &  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

Franklin  &  Hawley  Streets,  Boston,  Mass. 


Recent  Books  by  Well-known  Authors. 

ABBY  MORTON  DIAZ'S  BOOKS. 

Bright  and  keen  as  steel,  Mrs.  Diaz  invests  all  that  she  writes 
with  a  peculiar  charm,  whether  it  be  a  fantastic  story  of  kittens 
that  will  make  the  little  ones  wild  with  glee,  a  series  of  "jolly  " 
books  for  older  boys  and  girls,  or  a  thoughtful  treatise  on  the 
serious  questions  which  most  interest  the  mothers  in  every  home. 

CHRONICLES  OF  THE  STIMPCETT  FAMILY. 

Quarto,  chromo  lithograph  cover.  1.25 

KING  GRIMALKUM  AND  PUSSY  ANITA ;  or, 
The  Cats'  Arabian  Nights.  Quarto,  illust.  1.25 

POLLY  COLOGNE  SERIES.    3  vols.  3-00 

Polly  Cologne.  The  Jimmy  Johns. 

A  Story  Book  for  Children. 
WILLIAM  HENRY  BOOKS.    3  volumes.  3.00 

William  Henry  Letters.  Lucy  Maria. 

DOMESTIC  PROBLEMS  :   Work  and  Culture  in 

the  Household.  .  x.oo 

EDWARD  A.  RAND'S  BOOKS. 

Mr.  Rand's  strong,  helpful,  interesting  stories  have  made  him 
such  a  favorite  among  boys  and  among  ail  others  who  read  his 
books,  as  to  make  comment  upon  them  almost  needless.  The 
racy  incidents  and  sparkling  style  which  characterize  his  stories, 
arouse  interest  at  once,  and  there  is  in  them  an  under-current  of 
earnestness,  and  an  influence  for  good  which  will  remain  after  the 
stories  are  forgotten.  + 

ALL  ABOARD  FOR  SUNRISE  LANDS.  Chromo 
board  cover,  1.75  ;  extra  cloth  binding.  2.25 

BARK  CABIN  ON  KEARSARGE.  x6mo,  cloth, 
illust.  i. oo 

TENT  IN  THE  NOTCH,  THE.    i6mo,  cloth,  gilt.       i.oo 

ROY'S  DORY  AT  THE  SEASHORE.  A  sequel  to 
"Pushing  Ahead."  Large  i6mo,  cloth,  illust.  1,25 

ALL  ABOARD  FOR  THE  LAKES  AND  MOUN- 
TAINS. Boards,  1.75;  extra  cloth.  2.25 

PUSHING  AHEAD  ;  or,  Big  Brother  Dave.      1.25 

LITTLE  BROWN-TOP :  and  the  People  Under  It. 

i2mo,  illust.  1.25 

D.  LOTHROP  &  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

Franklin  and  Hawley  Streets,  Boston. 


Recent  Books  by   Well-known  Authors. 

THE  BAINBRIDGE  BOOKS. 

These  books,  written  by  the  Rev.  W.  F.  Bainbridge  and  his 
wife,  are  the  outcome  of  their  experience  in  a  trip  around  the 
world  undertaken  because  of  their  interest  in  Christian  Missions. 
They  not  only  abound  in  interesting  descriptions  of  the  numerous 
places  visited,  but  present  such  a  record  of  lofty  purposes  and 
noble  endeavors  as  will  furnish  inspiration  to  all  readers. 

AROUND  THE  WORLD  TOUR  OF  CHRISTIAN 

MISSIONS.  By  W.  F.  BAINBRIDGE.  With  maps  of  Pre- 
vailing Religions  and  all  Leading  Mission  Stations.  8vo, 
cloth.  2.00 

ROUND  THE  WORLD  LETTERS.  By  LUCY  SEA- 
MAN  BAINBRIDGE.  8vo,  cloth,  illustrated.  1.50 

SELF-GIVING.     A  story  of  Christian  Missions.     By  REV. 

W.  F.  BAINBRIDGE.     lamo,  cloth,  illust.  1.50 

MRS.  S.  R.  GRAHAM  CLARK'S  BOOKS. 

There  is  not  a  book  on  the  list  of  Mrs.  Clark's  delightfully 
entertaining  writings  which  is  not  thoroughly  good  from  what- 
ever point  of  view  considered. 

YENSIE  WALTON  BOOKS,  xarao,  cloth,  illust 
$1.50  each.  5  volumes.  7.50 

Yensie  Walton.    Yensie  Walton's  Womanhood. 
Our  Street.  The  Triple  E.  Achor. 

MISS  YONGE'S  HISTORICAL  STORIES. 

There  are  very  many,  especially  among  the  young,  who  are  not 
attracted  to  the  study  of  history,  as  presented  in  ordinary  historical 
works,  but  who  are  attracted  to  it  through  the  reading  of  books  in 
which  it  is  interwoven  with  roma»ce.  All  such  will  be  charmed 
with  Miss  Yonge's  Historical  Stories,  which  instruct  while  they 
interest,  and  are  written  in  the  fascinating  style  which  has  made 
her  one  of  the  most  popular  writers  of  the  day. 

YONGE'S   HISTORICAL   STORIES. 

4  vols.,  i2mo.  5.00 

The  Little  Duke.  Lances  of  Lynwood. 

The  Prince  and  the  Page.    Golden  Deeds. 

D.  LOTHROP  &  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

Franklin  and  Hawley  Streets,  Boston. 


MARIE  OLIVER'S  STORIES. 

3  vols,  I2mo  cloth,  illustrated,  $1.50  each;  the  set  $4.50. 

BUSY  HAMILTON.  OLD  AND  NEW  FBIENDa 

SBBA'S  DISCIPLINE. 

Extracts  from  c  9  mm*  *is  of  vucU-ktuwn  journal*. 
BUSY  HAMILTON. 

This  is  a  very  excellent  Sunday-school  book,  which  can  ba 
honestly  commended  for  youthful  readers. —  The  Watchman. 

It  is  a  well-told  story,  conveys  a  pure,  healthful  lesson,  and 
is  one  of  the  best  books  of  its  class. — Philadelphia  Enquirer. 

This  is  one  of  the  best  Sunday-school  books  in  Lothrop's 
long  and  admirable  list.  The'  story  is  a  sweet  one,  and 
charmingly  told. — Church  Mirror. 

The  spirit  throughout  is  healthy  and  devout.  .  .  .  Al- 
together it  is  a  charming  and  instructive  book. — Tht  Churck- 
man. 

OLD  AND  NEW  FRIENDS. 

A  very  excellent  specimen  of  the  class  of  fiction  designed 
for  young  folk  who  have  ceased  to  be  children  without 
having  become  mature  men  and  women. — N.  Y.  Evening 
Post. 

Many  readers  will  remember  "  Ruby  Hamilton,"  a  volume 
which  created  quite  a  sensation  at  the  time  of  its  publication. 
.  This  volume,  a  continuation  of  this  story,  ought  to 
become  as  popular  as  its  predecessor. — Christian  Mirror. 

Contains  some  charming  pictures  of  home-life.  .  .  . 
Cannot  but  help  and  strengthen  the  boy  whose  impulses 
are  for  good. — Herald  and  Presbyter. 

Like  all  that  comes  from  this  author's  pen,  this  volume 
has  merits  of  both  substance  and  style. —  Western  Christian 
Advocate. 

Adds  another  to  the  list  of  really  goo*3  story  books.— 
Cincinnati  Journal  and  Messenger. 

SEBA'S  DISCIPLINE. 

A  good  book  to  teach  the  uses  of  trouble  in  building  up  char* 
tcter. —  Wf stern  Recorder. 

Has  a  varied  and  absorbing  interest  from  its  beginning  to  its 
close.  .  .  .  Sometimes  sad  and  wonderfully  pathetic;  some- 
times bright  and  cheerful,  it  is  impressive  always.  In  every 
respect  it  is  the  best  religious  story  we  have  seen  for  many  a 
day,  and  one  .  .  .  that  can  scarcely  fail  to  benefit  any 
reader  whom  God  leads  along  rough  paths. —  The  Interior. 

Should  be  in  every  Sunday-school  library. —  The  Standard 

D.  LOTHSOP  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston, 


MARGARET    SIDNEY'S    BOOKS. 

'  Margaret  Sidney  may  be  safely  set  down  as  one  of  the  best  writers  of 
juvenile  literature  in  the  country.  —  Boston  Transcript. 

Margaret  Sidney's  books  are  happily  described  as  "  strong  and  pure 
from  cover  to  cover,  .  .  bright  and.  piquant  as  the  mountain  breezes,  or 
a.  dash  on  pony  back  of  a  June  morning."  The  same  writer  speaks  of  her 
as  "  An  American  authoress  who  will  hold  her  own  in  the  competitive 
good  work  executed  by  the  many  bright  writing  women  of  to-day." 

There  are  few  better  story  writers  than  Margaret  Sidney.  —  Herald 
<ind  Presbyter. 

Comments  of  the  Secular  anil  Religious  Press. 

FIVE  LITTLE  PEPPERS  AND   HOW  THEY  GREW. 

A  charming  work.  .  .  The  home  scenes  in  which  these  little  Pep- 
pers are  engaged  are  capitally  described.  .  .  Will  find  prominent  place 
among  the  higher  class  of  juvenile  presentation  books. — Religious  Herald. 

One  of  the  best  told  tales  given  to  the  children  for  some  time. 
The  perfect  reproduction  of  child-life  in  its  minutest  phases,  catches  one's 
attention  at  once.  —  Christian  A  dvocate. 

A  good  book  to  place  in  the  hands  of   every  boy  or  girl.  —  Chicago 
Inter-Ocean. 
SO  AS  BY  FIRE. 

Will  be  'hailed  with  eager  delight,  and  found  well  worth  reading.—* 
Christian  Observer. 

An  admirable  Sunday-school  book  —  A  rkansas  Evangel. 

We  have  followed  with  intense  interest  the  story  of  David  Folsom.     . 

.     A  man  poor,  friendless,  and  addicted  to  drink ;     .     .     the  influence 
of  little  Cricket;     .     .     the  faithful  care  of  aunt   Phebe ;    all  steps  by 
which  he  climbed  to  higher  manhood.  —  Woman  at  Work. 
THE  PETTIBONE  NAME. 

It  is  one  of  the  finest  pieces  of  American  fiction  that  has  been  pub- 
lished for  some  time.  —  Newsdealers'  Bulletin,  New  York. 

It  ought  to  attract  wide  attention  from  the  simplicity  of  its  style,  and 
the  vigor  and  originality  of  its  treatment.  —  Chicago  Herald. 

This  is  a  capital  story  illustrating  New  England  life.  —  fnter-Ocean., 
Chicago. 

The  characters  of  the  story  seem  all  to  be  studies  from  life.  —  Boston 
Post. 

It  is  a  New  England  tale,  and  its  characters  are  true  to  the  original 
type,  and  show  careful  study  and  no  little  skill  in  portraiture.  —  Christian 
at  Work,  New  York. 

To  be  commended  to  readers  for  excellent  delineations,  sparkling  style, 
bright  incident  and  genuine  interest  —  The  Watchman. 

A  capital  story ;  bright  with  excellent  sketches  of  character.     Conveys 
good  moral  and  spiritual   lessons.     .     .     In  short,  the  book  is  in  every 
way  well  done.       Illustrated  Christian  Weekly. 
HALF  YEAR  AT  BRONCKTON. 

A  live  boy  writes :  "  This  is  about  the  best  book  that  ever  was  written 
or  ever  can  be." 

"  This  bright  and  earnest  story  ought  to  go  into  the  hands  of  e\ery  boy 
Wfho  is  old  enough  to  be  subjected  to  the  temptations  of  school  life." 

D.  LOTHROP  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Bostoa. 


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